


In Your Bones

by vipjuly



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - MAMA (EXO Music Video), Angst, Horror, KaiChen, M/M, Macabre, Murder Mystery, Sci-Fi, chenkai - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-09 01:56:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13471257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: Bodies are turning up all over the city with intricate symbols carved into their dead, cold flesh. Kim Jongdae heads the investigation, but when the suspect pool narrows and is suddenly close to home... will Jongdae catch the killer, or lose his mind first?





	In Your Bones

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posting from my livejournal account (julyfix)   
> this fic, i feel, is best read in one sitting.  
> special thanks, always, to christie for holding my hand and kicking my ass at the same time.  
> please note the sci-fi tag, as there are some points in the story that really... _reach_.  
>  enjoy.

[ ](http://s346.photobucket.com/user/bulkkokeys9142/media/opener2_zpsbzac3fal.gif.html)

The cold metal of the gun barrel pressed to Kai’s temple doesn’t even send a shiver through his body. Instead of a fearful chill a thrilled shudder racks his bones — a small tremor, one not visible to even a watchful eye… but he feels it, from where the gun is touching his skin all the way down to the tips of his toes. The smile on his face is maniacal, splitting his already bruised lips, his white teeth covered in blood, cheeks lifting to distort his blackened left eye. His gaze is on the detective standing in front of him, and while the detective has a gun pointed at Kai, they both know that the law will pull the trigger first.

“This is how it ends,” Kai breathes out, voice almost carried away by the wind. On the roof of this sky rise condo he knows the detective has to strain to hear him, the wind whipping around them. Kai is standing on the ledge, balanced on the balls of his feet, rocking ever so slightly. There’s no support beneath his heels. Just a little deeper of a flex, and he’ll go sailing eighty floors.

“Kai—” Detective Kim calls out, his voice half warning, half terrified. 

Kai loves to see the fear in Detective Kim’s eyes. It makes his stomach twist and his groin tighten. 

“What do you think will kill me faster?” Kai asks, his voice a bit breathy with arousal, adrenaline. His finger trembles on the trigger of the revolver he has pointed to his head. One bullet left. A Russian Roulette he’ll surely win. “A bullet to my brain, or my head impacting on cement?”

“Don’t—” Detective Kim takes a step forward but immediately staggers back when Kai flings an arm out to the side, exposing himself. 

“Or maybe a bullet from your gun?” Kai muses. The wind whips his tattered black shirt up, exposing worn scars speckled across the smooth, tan plane of his stomach.

“Things don’t have to end like this!” Detective Kim yells to be heard over the wind. His tie is flapping around and occasionally slapping him in the neck, and with the wind blustering his suit Kai can see his narrow waist, the curve of his shoulders. Detective Kim is a work of art. 

Kai sighs wistfully, tipping his head back and looking up at the sky. It’s cloudy tonight. No moon or stars to be seen, the wind carrying away anything that might be floating in the atmosphere. He flexes on the balls of his feet again, his heels dipping dangerously low, the muscles in his calves burning from the pleasant stretch. 

“This is the only way,” Kai finally says, lowering his chin and leveling his eyes with Detective Kim’s. The arm holding the gun to his head flexes as he readjusts the positioning. The smirk returns to his features, and he rises up onto his toes. “Let me know which one killed me faster.”

He jumps.

A single gunshot fires.

Detective Kim’s screams get lost in the wind.

BREAK

_10 months earlier_

_“Another body has been discovered, this time today in a dumpster. Mangled beyond recognition with another design carved into the right bicep, it is believed to be the work of the serial killer Kai, who has been on the loose for six months. No leads have popped up in the case, and detectives are working fast to identify the body. Police have not yet confirmed whether it is a male or female, or if the body fits the description of any missing people. The mark left on the victim this time seemed to be in the shape of—”_

Jongdae turns off the television, pinching the bridge of his nose before rubbing the center of his forehead. From the other side of the divider separating their cubicles, Sehun groans in obvious complaint of the news being turned off.

“We already know all the details,” Jongdae says, standing up from his desk and grabbing his suit jacket, draping it over his arm as he collects his papers into the briefcase.

He hears Sehun’s pout in his voice, “It’s important to watch the news. Sometimes they know details they’re not supposed to, or sometimes they give inaccurate facts. We have to keep an eye on them.”

“So then maybe you should have became a reporter instead of a detective,” Jongdae says with a falsely bright smile as he snaps his briefcase closed.

Sehun rolls his eyes. “You don’t get to be all up close and personal in investigations as a reporter.”

“You can be if you find a dirty or stupid cop,” Jongdae says, shutting off his desk lamp.

Sehun shrugs and also stands up from his desk. “What case are you assigned to right now?”

Jongdae groans. “A missing woman. She attended her first day of school, was seen leaving the school, and then vanished. I found her car and her belongings inside…” he snorts a little. “Only her debit card was missing. I found a paper trail of it and caught her on camera at a corner store two hours away— And you know what? Her fiance told me that she’s gone missing, _on purpose_ , once before. I saw her on camera buying cigarettes but the department is still keeping me on the case because activity went dead after that.” 

Whistling, Sehun shakes his head. “That’s ridiculous.” He grins. “But at least it’s a case. I’ve been doing desk work for three weeks.”

Jongdae laughs a little, “That’s because no one trusts you in the field.”

Sehun gathers up his things and starts following Jongdae out of the office, “I’ve only messed up one time, it wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“You got in a fight with a teenage civilian,” Jongdae graciously reminds him as they get into the elevator.

Sehun grumbles, “Punk deserved what he got.”

“And therefore, you deserve desk work.”

Jongdae laughs, and Sehun pouts. They’ll still go out for drinks tonight, anyway.

—

A stack of files gets dropped on Jongdae’s desk when he’s zoning out, and he startles in surprise. The rollers of his chair squeak a little in protest of his weight shifting so violently, and when he looks up to see who’s standing at his side, Jongdae immediately jumps up so he can bow.

“Chief!” he greets.

“Jongdae,” the man greets in return with a little laugh. “Don’t address me so formally, it’s weird. You’re older than me.”

Jongdae smiles widely and reaches forward to knuckle the Chief’s hair affectionately. “Whatever, Jongin. You like me being subordinate to you.”

Jongin waggles his brows playfully in response. Sehun gags in the background. Laughing a bit, Jongin rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. Slowly but surely, the playful mood dampens bit by bit until he speaks. “I’m really sorry to do this to you, but do you think you can take on the Kai case?”

The entire office goes silent. Jongdae stares at Jongin, wide-eyed, and Sehun shoots up from his chair to stand, obviously wanting to catch every detail without shame.

“Uhm—” Jongdae clears his throat a bit. “What?”

“Joonmyun was working on it,” Jongin’s gaze lowers a bit, brows knitting. 

That’s news to everyone in the room. The Kai case has been Top Secret since the first murder six months ago.

“Right, because he’s the best detective in our precinct,” Sehun butts in. 

A sense of trepidation fills Jongdae to the core as he looks at the expression on Jongin’s features. “... Why isn’t Joonmyun on the case anymore…?”

Jongin’s gaze rises to meet Jongdae’s, the expression a bit hollow. “He went missing this morning.”

The office immediately goes uproarious, people loudly asking what that meant, who saw him, how does a detective go missing when he had a whole team behind him? Sehun looks shellshocked. Jongdae feels sick to his stomach. 

“Even I didn’t know he was working on the case,” Jongdae says slowly. “No one but you and his team knew.”

At times like this, Jongin looks old beyond his years. There’s a bit of stubble on his chin and upper lip, and his eyes maybe look a little bit more hollow than before — but, that could be Jongdae’s imagination. He knows Jongin carved his way to the top with high performance scores and a drive like no other. He is a prodigy in this jurisdiction and often gets called upon for counsel on cases all around the country. He has constructed a team of detectives with many strengths and attributes, who can carry each other’s weaknesses. They’re an indestructible force with Jongin as their fearless leader. And now… Joonmyun, one of the most highly respected officers in the unit, is missing.

“I need you to do this,” Jongin says, resting his hand atop the files that he’d set down on Jongdae’s desk. His eyes are imploring, but a bit on the firm side. “I’m asking you this as my officer… and as Joonmyun’s friend.”

Jongdae’s eyes look down to where Jongin’s tan hand is resting on the manila folder beneath it. He swallows thickly — the obvious conclusion is that Joonmyun went missing due to his involvement in the Kai case. If Jongdae takes on the responsibility his own life is at risk, as well.

But, Jongdae knows… sometimes it takes a life to save one.

“I’ll take it,” Jongdae says, looking up at Jongin. His hand lifts to rest on the taller man’s shoulder, squeezing firmly, almost comfortingly. “Who’s taking the lead on investigating what happened to Joonmyun?”

The file in Jongin’s spare hand is held out to his left side, towards Sehun. “You.”

Sehun’s jaw drops. “Me?”

Jongin’s smile is rueful, “You’ve been complaining about desk work, right?”

Sehun takes the file with shaky fingers, not daring to open it just yet. “Y-yeah…”

Jongin’s gaze returns to Jongdae’s, and he moves his hand to rest it atop the one Jongdae has on his shoulder. His fingers gently wrap around Jongdae’s wrist and he gives a thankful, returning squeeze.

“We’ll rendez-vous for lunch in three hours. In the meantime, please go through the files.”

Jongdae stares at Jongin’s erected back as the man leaves the room. Jongin’s eyes may have been heavy, but his spine is strong under the burden.

Jongdae respects the man with every fiber of his being.

—

Jongdae feels like his head is about to split open. Since being handed the Kai case at eight in the morning he hasn’t slept, he’s barely eaten, and he’s probably had enough beer to knock out a horse. It’s two o’clock in the morning and he’s at home, some of the files spread out on his coffee table, another stack on the floor. He has his laptop open, the light from it hurting his eyes since every other light in the house is off. His fingers move on their own accord, typing things into his laptop, marking things down in his notebook with his pen, sifting through the pages and pictures in the files. He has six months of work to catch up on, and Joonmyun is nothing but thorough. There are notes that Jongdae doesn’t quite understand, but he takes them down anyway, tucking them away mentally in his head and physically in his notebook.

He doesn’t end up sleeping at all. When he enters the office at seven-thirty the next morning he sets the case files down on his desk carefully, and then sits heavily in his chair. He didn’t even have a chance to get coffee — he had been so immersed in his research that he lost track of time until his alarm went off and then had to rush to make sure he punched in on time.

“Jesus,” Sehun is peering at Jongdae over the divide of their cubicles. “Did you get any sleep?”

Jongdae shakes his head. “No. This shit is heavy.” 

Sehun makes some sort of noise in the back of his throat, and then walks away. Figures. Jongdae slumps in his chair a bit, staring at the case files. Sighing heavily, he opens up his laptop. It’s been twenty-four hours, but he thinks he’s starting to understand the direction in which the case was going. 

Ten minutes pass, and the smell of coffee gets significantly stronger. Sitting up, Jongdae glances over and sees Sehun standing a bit awkwardly by the edge of his desk, holding a to-go coffee cup from the place Jongdae usually frequents. Blinking, Jongdae looks up at Sehun.

“Uh,” Sehun holds out the cup, not meeting Jongdae’s gaze. “Good luck, and all that shit. Take a nap on your lunch break.”

Smiling gratefully, Jongdae takes the cup from Sehun, chuckling. “Thank you, Sehun.”

He tries not to linger on the kind gesture for too long. He and Sehun have been friends since they were both in police academy and their relationship is a bit odd to outsiders, but Jongdae knows they both care for each other a lot more than they let on.

Taking a sip of his coffee, he returns to his work with a little more focus and a slightly lighter heart.

—

Four days later, Sehun’s phone rings. Since he’s taken on Joonmyun’s missing person’s case he’s been in contact with anyone and everyone who might have leads or a connection. Hearing his phone ring is not new at all. Jongdae barely even pays attention, before his ears prick at the sudden change in Sehun’s voice from bored to alarmed.

“You _what_?”

Jongdae stands up from his seat to peer over the divider. Sehun is curled in on himself, shoulders hunched, one hand tangled in his brown locks and the other in a white-knuckled grip on his phone with his elbows digging hard into the surface of his desk. He’s trembling. Something is wrong.

“I’ll tell Chief. Don’t touch anything. Don’t move. Don’t—I’m on my way. Fuck.”

“Sehun?” Jongdae frowns as Sehun stands from his seat, his shaky fingers grabbing his badge, cell phone, and opening his drawer for his gun. “Sehun.”

Sehun looks up at Jongdae with bright, fearful eyes. “They found Joonmyun. Jongdae, he’s dead.”

—

It’s raining when Jongdae and Sehun show up to the crime scene. Their black umbrellas are fitting, Jongdae thinks sardonically. Their suits are fitting. Everything fits the mood for a funeral… including who’s sprawled on his back on the grimy ground of a back alley, throat slashed and skin so sallow it looks like he’d been tortured for years.

Sehun has never been emotionally strong. He acts aloof and detached, but the truth is that one time he cried when his landlord wouldn’t let him keep a kitten he rescued, and then when his girlfriend broke up with him it took four weeks for him to even talk to another female without getting choked up with memories. 

So when Sehun’s shoulders tremble, his hand covering his mouth as they look upon their longtime friend, mangled and lifeless, Jongdae reaches for him. He finds a limp hand, laces their fingers and presses their palms strongly and surely together, his brows knitted as he does his best to stay strong for his best friend, his comrade. The rain is washing away the blood and Joonmyun looks like a sacrificed angel, skin porcelain, eyes unseeing up to the Heavens, limbs spread. 

“Christ,” Jongin’s voice behind them startles Jongdae, the other officers on scene saluting in respect. Jongdae watches as Jongin steps forward without an umbrella, crouching down so he can examine Joonmyun’s body close up.

It’s so surreal. This isn’t the first dead body Jongdae has seen, but it’s the first that he’s known. It’s the first that he’s seen something that is merely a ghost of the life it was before; Joonmyun’s eye smile, his warm laugh, his huge heart and his kind hugs. All of those things are gone forever. At the beginning of this, Jongdae had hope that Joonmyun was alive — the man was smart and cunning when he had to be. Surely some serial killer couldn’t get the best of him. Right?

But the truth is right in front of them.

Jongin snaps on a pair of latex gloves and starts pulling at Joonmyun’s clothes — the suit he had worn to work on the last day he was seen alive — checking his pockets, sleeves, anywhere and everywhere. Jongdae does his best to be as detached as Jongin is, but his guts aren’t made of steel. Sehun isn’t looking, staring at the ground instead, and Jongdae instead is regarding him. How his fingers tremble against his cheeks with his palm pressed solidly to his mouth, tears tumbling down over his knuckles, how his nostrils flare with every breath he tries to control.

“Shit,” Jongin’s curse brings Jongdae back to the present. “Jongdae… could you come here? With a camera.”

One of the officers hands Jongdae the crime scene camera and Jongdae adjusts his umbrella, stepping forward so he can partially cover Jongin and himself. Jongin shifts so Jongdae can see where he’s lifted the bloodied shirt; Joonmyun’s stomach has been slashed open, and at first it looks like random hacks until Jongin starts pointing with a finger, tracing an invisible line.

“Another symbol,” Jongdae breathes. “Kai.”

Jongin exhales softly. “Get a picture. Just of the belly.” his gaze travels upwards. “I don’t want any other photos to be taken.” _I want to remember Joonmyun how he was, not how he was found._

Jongdae complies, the flash muted from the rain. It’ll be good enough, he thinks, as he checks the digital display. He’s starting to feel nauseous.

“Please handle this delicately,” Jongin says to the officers as the coroner shows up. He calls out to backup officers that are starting to arrive, “Seal off the area. No one gets in, no one takes photos — no one should be able to zoom in close enough to see the color of your shoes. Got it?” There’s severity in his voice, and it makes everyone salute in acceptance.

“Sehun, take the rest of the day — the week — off. Your case is closed,” Jongin says as he passes by the brunette. The case isn’t closed, but everyone knows Jongin won’t make Sehun continue to work on it under these circumstances.

Sehun stays rooted to the spot, and Jongdae reaches out for him to grab his hand again. “Do you want to stay at my place?” Jongdae asks. “You can.”

Nodding vaguely, Sehun is quiet, his eyes still on the ground. Jongdae presses his spare key into Sehun’s hand and then pulls him into a tight, brief hug, kissing his head. “I’ll bring home dinner and some clothes for you.” He pulls out his cell phone and calls a cab, telling Sehun where it will pick him up. “Don’t do anything stupid, ok?” he says as a warning.

Finally, Sehun looks up into Jongdae’s eyes, tear tracks stained into his BB cream. “Just come home tonight.” _Don’t die._

Jongdae’s heart does this awful thing between squeezing and freezing over. He offers a tepid smile, “I will.”

He will.

BREAK

_Two Months Later…_

“Freeze!” Jongdae has his gun drawn, barrel pointed at the back of a man hovering over a young, terrified woman. “Back away from the girl.”

The man in question is frozen and Jongdae can’t see what he looks like; the woman, however, can’t tear her gaze away from his face, her whole body trembling. Her eyes are watering, nostrils flaring, lips trembling to keep any noises at bay, and Jongdae wishes he could see what she sees. Wishes he could take it away from her.

“Hooo?” The man’s voice gruffs in amusement. “Or what, Detective?”

“Step _away_ from the girl, Kai!” Jongdae yells, his calm facade breaking momentarily.

The woman backs up a bit, so shaken that she doesn’t bother to hide her modesty, her skirt up around her thighs, milky skin and cotton panties exposed. It looks like all of her joints are about to break with the velocity of their trembling. Above her, Kai’s back straightens and he lets his hands drop to his sides, inky black hair shifting slightly over the nape of his neck.

“Aren’t you curious, Detective Kim…” the man says, his voice low and hitting an octave Jongdae has never thought possible. “...as to why I let you catch me, today?”

Jongdae sees the opportunity when Kai shifts his weight, and he makes eye contact with the woman. She gets the message immediately, bless her, and she shoots up like a rocket, sprinting as fast and as far away as possible. It’s dark tonight, this alleyway secluded, and Jongdae can only hope the woman will come into the station tomorrow to give a statement. Unlikely, but he holds onto the hope.

“Ahh~” Kai’s voice pitches a bit, turns slightly pouty. “You let her get away. But~ that’s ok. She wasn’t the one I wanted.”

Jongdae’s blood runs ice cold, and his grip on his gun is sure even though his eyes blink a bit more than necessary. “You lured me out here?”

“How else was I going to talk to you?” Kai asks, his back still to Jongdae. He’s wearing all black, a tattered tee and skinny jeans with worn out Converse. From behind, he looks like a kid. 

“Why do you want to talk to me?” Jongdae asks. Keep him engaged long enough for backup to arrive so they can take him into custody. By the book, no rules broken. 

Kai turns, then, and faces Jongdae. His face is blocked by a simple white mask, only his nose and lips exposed. There doesn’t even appear to be eyeholes, but Jongdae swears he sees red flash.

Demon.

“You seem much more fun than the last guy,” Kai amends, his full lips turning into a smirk. He’s pale in the moonlight and as he turns to fully face Jongdae, Jongdae is struck that maybe Kai _is_ a teenager. But there’s no way someone that sleight, that tall and lanky could be responsible for all of the murders.

“You mean Joonmyun?” Jongdae asks, tepid.

“My, my~” Kai gut laughs, arms wrapping around his slender middle as he doubles over with amusement. It takes a few moments for him to calm and when he does, he straightens and lifts a hand to wipe a nonexistent tear from where an eye would be on his mask. “Yes, that’s the one! Joonmyun. Another Detective Kim. Your office is teeming with them, isn’t it?”

Clenching his teeth, Jongdae tries not to show that he’s being mildly affected by Kai’s observations. This guy is sharper than they originally thought. Then again, he killed Joonmyun, who was working on his file in secret. He has to have some ins somewhere, somehow.

“But you~” Kai takes a step forward and Jongdae takes a step back, tightening his grip on his gun, finger flexed alongside the trigger. “You’re the most interesting one of all. Don’t you know?” Kai grips the front of his own shirt passionately, “Don’t you _feel_ it?”

“I can’t be the most interesting Kim in Seoul city,” Jongdae hedges. Five more minutes and reinforcements will be here. Just five more minutes.

“Oh! But didn’t you hear me? I’m talking about your department~ Let’s see,” Kai starts ticking off on his fingers. “Detective Kim Joonmyun, Detective Kim Jongdae, Detective Kim Minseok…” his smirk sends chills down Jongdae’s spine. “Chief Kim Jongin. I know it’s such a common name, but~ honestly, isn’t it so coincidental that you all are in the same force?” He laughs, maniacally. “Perhaps I am Kim Kai!”

Drugs. That’s the only reasoning Jongdae can come up with, as he watches Kai dissolve into a fit of giggles. No one is truly this insane and unaccounted for, right? Craziness like this is institutionalized, locked up in a padded room and given medication every day. There’s no way someone like this exists in the real world, out with real people day to day. 

“Are you Kim Kai?” Jongdae asks, fishing for clues about Kai’s identity while he bides time.

“Are you Kim Jongdae?” Kai asks, lips revealing white, pristine teeth.

This rhetoric is getting nowhere. Where the hell are the officers he paged in?

“If I’m right,” Kai says, taking another few, surprisingly non-threatening steps towards Jongdae. Jongdae holds his ground, “Your backup should be here in about two minutes.” He sighs. “That’s no fair. I wanted to have some fun with you.”

“Sorry, but I’m not into your kinds of games,” Jongdae says, offering a little smirk of his own.

In the blink of an eye Kai is suddenly behind Jongdae, lanky arms coming up on either side of the detective’s body, hands sliding down the sleeves of Jongdae’s suit to trace their sure line as they hold the gun out in front of him. Jongdae is frozen to the spot, rigid, Kai’s presence like ice behind him. Kai’s fingers close around Jongdae’s wrists and his lips are against the back of the shorter man’s ear, breathing softly.

“On the contrary, I think you are,” Kai whispers, his chest flush against Jongdae’s back.

Jongdae feels like he’s going to puke. He’s terrified and nauseated. This must be how Kai got so close to Joonmyun to do him in — Jongdae didn’t even see him move. 

“What are you…?” Jongdae breathes.

Kai chuckles, deep and throaty, before his hot, wet tongue slides over the shell of Jongdae’s ear. “I am what you’ve always wanted.”

The coldness against his back disappears and when Jongdae turns around he’s alone in the alley, his gun pointed into the darkness.

Kai’s laugh echoes in his head.

—

The woman never comes in to give a statement. Jongdae doesn’t care. He’s at his cubicle staring at his laptop; another murder happened last night, shortly after Kai had left him in the alleyway. The news is reporting on it and Jongdae is watching the news anchor’s mouth move, but he can’t hear a thing she’s saying. Jongin had already made a file and put it on Jongdae’s desk before he even clocked in that morning. 

“Jongdae…” Sehun’s head peeks over the divider. He looks concerned. And he has a right to be: Jongdae hasn’t said a word since he sat down at his desk. 

He hasn’t told anyone about his encounter with Kai. He doesn’t even know where to begin. 

“Jongdae,” Sehun tries again.

When Jongdae looks up at his friend, he sees tiredness in his eyes. It’s been there since Joonmyun’s death, and while the initial mourning period has passed, Sehun still feels the weight of the burden. Carries it with him, and feels partially responsible. 

“Sorry,” Jongdae rubs the back of his neck and tries to send Sehun a reassuring smile. “It’s just that every time we get a lead the trail runs cold. I’ve never been so discouraged in my life.”

Sehun sighs, “I know. The stack of files keeps growing and nobody's getting any rest—”

“Jongdae.” 

Jongin’s voice cuts in, and both Jongdae and Sehun look up at the Chief. 

“Good morning, Chief,” Sehun says, before seating himself back in his seat.

Jongdae is about to give the same greeting, but Jongin lifts a hand and gestures. 

“Come to my office, Jongdae.”

It takes a great amount of effort for Jongdae to stand up and pause the news story playing in his browser. He follows Jongin through the cubicles, past the desks and into his office, where Jongin closes the door and offers Jongdae a seat. It’s not Jongdae’s first time in Jongin’s office, but lately it’s been a lot more… heavy. 

“Why did you call officers for backup last night?” Jongin cuts to the chase as he sits down at his desk, loosening his tie a bit.

Jongdae sighs. Of course, he’ll have to tell Jongin. “I caught Kai in the act.”

Jongin looks alarmed, “You were instructed not to make any moves.”

“It was an accident,” Jongdae insists. “I saw a girl at the supermarket all by herself and I just kept thinking about the victims and I just… unconsciously followed her. And I’m glad I did, because Kai came out of nowhere and—”

“Jongdae.” Jongin sounds exasperated. “What happened? Why didn’t you shoot him?”

Jongdae is taken aback by the question. “Shoot him? Kill Kai?”

Jongin is massaging his temples, his elbows on his desk. “Why did you call for backup that you _knew_ wouldn’t get there in time? Kai could have killed you, too!” 

“But he didn’t,” Jongdae says, a bit alarmed that his Chief asked him why he didn’t _kill_ someone, criminal or not. “My life wasn’t in danger and that woman got away.” 

“Kai is a _serial killer_ , Jongdae,” Jongin says, a bit icily. “And after your call was made, an hour later we discovered another one of his victims.”

Blinking rapidly, Jongdae feels his face heat up with anger, “Don’t try to blame me for the fact he killed that night!”

“You could have stopped him from ever killing again,” Jongin says, voice still firm.

“ _I_ am not a killer, Jongin, I’m a fucking cop and I _arrest_ killers!”

Silence blankets the room and Jongdae sits back in his seat, averting his gaze and clearing his throat. He’s never raised his voice at Jongin before, and although he’s older than Jongin, the man is still his superior and Jongdae was just completely out of line. 

A sigh comes from Jongin, and Jongdae chances a glance at him. The Chief has his arms folded over the top of his desk, head pillowed against them, face hidden. He looks like a pouting child. 

“I’m sorry,” Jongin mumbles after a few tense seconds of silence. “I was out of line in saying something like that to you. You’re right. You’re not a killer.” 

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Jongdae leans forward in his seat a bit. “Jongin… I want to catch him so we can bring him to justice and give the victim’s families some closure. If Kai dies… we’ll be doing the victims and their families a disservice.”

“I know,” Jongin lifts a hand and waves it, before he sits up and then slouches back in his seat. He stares at an empty spot on his desk, “I just— I was so worried about you.”

Jongdae goes a bit rigid. Something about the tone of Jongin’s voice isn’t… professional. It’s not a Chief’s concern over one of his detectives. It twists in his gut and Jongdae is suddenly reminded of all the tender smiles, gentle touches, the favor that Jongin has always treated him with. 

He’s going to be sick. 

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Jongdae says, abruptly standing and straightening his tie. “I can take care of myself.”

Jongin looks up and smiles a bit ruefully, running his fingers through his hair. He’s boyishly handsome, Jongdae thinks. Despite being almost thirty he still retains some of his youthful features. And now that Jongdae thinks about it, he was an idiot to not realize Jongin’s feelings sooner. 

“I know you can,” Jongin finally murmurs, his gaze once again falling to the desk.

Without another word, Jongdae bows and excuses himself from the room.

He hopes Jongin hadn’t noticed his revelation.

—

“We have _got_ to stop meeting like this~” 

Jongdae is too smart to yell in surprise or pull his gun out in the middle of a crowded street. But Kai’s icy presence behind him is enough to make him feel the slightest amount of panic, even as he continues walking towards the corner store he had been heading to. 

“You’re a stalker now?” Jongdae asks dryly, keeping his gaze ahead. “That’s a change in our profile I’ll have to make note of.”

Suddenly Kai is at Jongdae’s side, an arm looped through the shorter man’s, accompanying the detective like they’re two good ol’ friends heading to the corner store for some beers. 

“I like you~” Kai sings. “I want to know more about you.”

“I’d rather you kill me,” Jongdae says, a bit bravely. Kai is touching him. Physically linked with him.

But Kai seems to take it as a sarcastic joke, tossing his head back with a laugh. He’s not wearing the white mask, but his sunglasses are large and his hair is too unruly to really make out any features. 

“Now now, Jongdae, don’t be so mean,” Kai pouts. He smells like cologne and freshly fallen leaves. “I was going to the store, too! Why can’t we go together?”

“I can think of one good reason,” Jongdae mumbles. He wants to throw up.

“Now you’re just being prejudiced,” Kai pouts again. Jongdae feels nauseous — it’s an act full of aegyo that is totally wrong coming from a man who basically guts people for fun. “What were you getting? Beer? Food?”

“It’s none of your business,” Jongdae snaps, stopping at a crosswalk. It’s dusk, the sun already hidden behind the tall skyscrapers of the city, but Kai looks like he’s ready to bask in the afternoon of a hot summer’s day. 

“I’m going to find out anyway,” Kai drawls as he pulls away. His hands slide into the pockets of his black skinny jeans as he rocks back on the heels of his worn Converse, waiting patiently for the signal. He looks like any other kid. It’s maddening.

The light turns green and Jongdae looks both ways before crossing, Kai trailing behind him. The crowd this evening is moderate, given that this part of the city is where a lot of apartments and condos are — Jongdae’s included. The last thing he needs is Kai figuring out where he lives. Unless he already knows… and that thought sends a shiver down Jongdae’s spine. How else would Kai have known Jongdae would be in this area? Seoul isn’t a small city. It’s rather hard to just ‘bump into’ someone if you’re not purposely seeking them out. 

Shaking his head a little, Jongdae clears his thoughts. His precinct is in this district. Kai knows that much — he probably doesn’t know where Jongdae lives specifically. Right? He can’t. He’s just here because he knows Jongdae’s office has the case. Knows Jongdae has the case. 

Jongdae knows better than to fool himself, though.

They make it to the corner store and when they enter, the dinging of the door is surprisingly innocent. To anyone looking on, they’re two guys heading to the store together to get odds and ends. Roommates, maybe. Jongdae would rather eat his own foot. Saw it off with a rusty blade and then consume it raw.

“Ah, I love these!” Kai suddenly says. 

The exclamation has Jongdae turning curiously, watching as Kai picks up a bag of American sour gummy candy. Even though they’re in a well-lit store, Kai’s features are still shrouded in darkness and it’s entirely too eerie. Jongdae can see the white of his smile, though, as the other flips the bag over and (attempts to?) reads the English on the back.

Shuddering, Jongdae heads towards the section that contains the sole reason he came here: instant coffee. His barista was way too worried the last time he visited the shop with bags under his eyes that almost reached his chin, and Jongdae doesn’t want to put her through that. Not when he kind of likes her — doe-eyed, a bit stand-offish, but one of the most generous people Jongdae has ever met. No, he’ll save her the hassle of worrying (and asking too many questions) by brewing cups at home and at the office. Besides, nothing like the bitter taste of instant coffee to wake anyone up, no matter what the caffeine content is.

“Do you like dark or light roasts?” He hears Kai’s voice behind him, and Jongdae ignores him as he grabs a dark brew. Why is Kai so interested? “I don’t really like the taste of coffee. It tastes too… adult.”

A thought strikes Jongdae.

This is, obviously, the perfect opportunity. Kai is _interested_ in Jongdae. Whether or not he did the same thing to Joonmyun before he killed the man is irrelevant — Kai is taking the time to ask questions, and, perhaps unbeknownst to him, offering up information about himself in the process. Jongdae would be an idiot to not follow along. He would be stark raving mad to not grab this chance by the horns and wrangle it in. 

Kai is deadly. Kai is highly intelligent. All of Jongdae’s and Joonmyun’s reports combined confirm this. He’s also a lunatic, and Jongdae is starting to think he’s a bit naive, too.

Either that, or he’s at a level of intellect that Jongdae can’t quite grasp.

He’s going to take the chance on the former.

Jongdae decides to take the risk. 

“You _are_ an adult,” Jongdae replies, putting two canisters of instant coffee in his basket.

He can hear the petulance in Kai’s voice, “So? Coffee is gross. Besides, caffeine makes me sleepy.”

“That’s not how it works,” Jongdae says idly, pretending that he’s not hanging on to every word coming out of Kai’s mouth, no matter how mundane. 

“I don’t need caffeine,” Kai continues, following as Jongdae moves towards the sugar. “Besides, it’s a drug. You’re addicted to it.”

“I don’t think you have any room to be chastising me for being addicted to something,” Jongdae says with as much patience and tolerance as he can muster. He almost feels like he should turn in his badge, playing nice with a serial killer. But information is information, and Jongdae has had enough training to know not to let this go. 

Jongdae picks up a box of natural sweetener, cringing at the price but knowing it’s better for him than just straight sugar. Funny, how he’s listening to Kai berate him for being addicted to caffeine, but here he is buying Truvia instead of real sugar. Kai doesn’t seem to notice, and for a moment Jongdae foolishly thinks he’s alone — but when he glances around, he spots Kai crouching in front of the cooler, looking through the glass at the drink selections.

Pretending to ignore him (when really he wishes he had eyes in the back of his head), Jongdae moves through the aisles, fingers wringing the plastic handle of his basket. A serial killer is accompanying him on a mundane task. Jongdae wonders if Kai will try to follow him home. What will he do then? Certainly not let him. But Jongdae just can’t… _not_ go home. He’s lost in his thoughts in front of the mixed nuts when Kai slips up to him and drops something into his basket.

Blinking in surprise and doing his best to not flinch away, Jongdae looks down at what Kai dropped into his basket. It’s an aloe drink, papaya flavored, and he looks up at Kai with an arched brow. “What is that.”

“Aloe,” Kai smiles. He looks so dark, even under the fluorescent light, almost like his aura sucks in any brightness and immediately converts it into a black void. Jongdae still can’t make out any discernable features — the other is still wearing his sunglasses, even inside. “It’s better for you than caffeine.”

“But it won’t wake me up at six a.m.,” Jongdae says, picking it up and pushing it back into Kai’s hands. Their fingers brush and electricity zips through Jongdae’s frame — he stumbles back in shock, and Kai merely smirks, his canines looking especially sharp. Jongdae tries to pull himself together, “Will you just leave me alone? Jesus.”

Again, Kai pouts, and Jongdae does his best to ignore it. “I can’t leave you alone.”

“Of course,” Jongdae grumbles, turning around and heading to the register. When he glances around the store, he’s very disturbed to find Kai… gone. Not a trace of him anywhere. Puzzled, Jongdae politely asks the cashier if she’s seen his ‘friend’, to which the cashier offers him an equally puzzled expression.

“You came in here alone, sir.”

Jongdae feels his guts turn to lead. He pays for his groceries and heads home, feeling a little dazed. He had touched Kai. He had _felt_ his presence, and that presence had shocked through his entire nervous system. Kai had been there. Kai was real.

When Jongdae gets to his apartment, his feet knock something over as he unlocks his door. He glances down, expecting someone to have left the newspaper on his doorstep; a bottle of papaya aloe juice is rolling innocently away from his feet, and this time, Jongdae can’t contain it.

He pukes into the azaleas by his door.

—

A week later, Jongdae is at the scene of Kai’s latest attack, a hand over his mouth as he stares at the lifeless body of his barista. Her doe eyes are open and unseeing, staring up at the endless grey sky, her name tag splattered with blood. Another strange symbol is cut into her stomach, and Jongdae feels intense remorse. Surely Kai knows where Jongdae used to get his coffee. Jongdae knows where he lives, for God’s sake. Did Kyungsoon get caught up in the crosshairs? 

Even in death, she’s beautiful. Her skin drained of color, her full lips pale, her hair lackluster from its usual shine. 

A hand on his shoulder makes him turn to see Sehun looking sadly down at Kyungsoon. 

“How many have to die?” Sehun asks softly. He had been partial to Kyungsoon also, although perhaps not at the level of fondness Jongdae had. 

Jongdae doesn’t have an answer. He hasn’t seen Kai since the corner store. He waves over the crime scene photographer, “Get a picture of her stomach and have it sent directly to me, please.”

They’re in the alley behind the coffee stand. Kai is never discreet when he dumps bodies after he mutilates them; Jongdae has no idea how no one witnesses the crimes. As he and Sehun turn to head back to the car, Jongdae is surprised to notice that Sehun’s hand hasn’t left his shoulder. Glancing over at his friend, he looks at the lines in his face; Sehun is the youngest detective in their firm, the most vibrant, the one with the brightest future. He’s a good man with a pure heart and a sense of moral justice like no other. Even Jongdae feels outshined by him sometimes.

But right now, walking away from Kyungsoon’s dead body, Jongdae knows that Sehun is wearing thin. The side effects of this job are worming their way into his every bone and Jongdae feels awful that someone once so bright has now been dimmed to a dull ember. 

After they get into the car, Jongdae in the driver’s seat and Sehun riding passenger, Jongdae puts the keys in the ignition and turns the car on but leaves it in park. Sehun glances over, thin brows furrowed a bit — Jongdae reaches over, putting his hand on Sehun’s knee.

“Are you ok?” Jongdae asks, eyes searching Sehun’s.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Sehun asks, letting out a small, hollow laugh. “You went on a few dates with Kyungsoon, didn’t you?”

Jongdae lets out a slow breath. “You should ask to be reassigned.”

Sehun looks alarmed, “What— why?”

“Because I see what this case is doing to you,” Jongdae says.

Sehun’s gaze narrows, and he grows rigid under Jongdae’s placating hand. “You say that like it’s not affecting you at all.”

“Sehun—”

“I’m not a fucking kid, Jongdae. This isn’t police academy, ok? I don’t need you watching out for me.”

Flashbacks of carrying Sehun through an obstacle course because he tripped and sprained his ankle filter through Jongdae’s mind. Images of staying up late at night helping one another study, eating enough instant ramen to give them stomach problems for a week, drinking in celebration when they passed their exams — Jongdae is suddenly struck with the fact that he has been looking out for Sehun this whole time, whether on purpose or just instinctually. He hadn’t ever meant to treat Sehun like a kid. Sehun is smart and talented, and Jongdae had always wanted to see him succeed. 

But now with Sehun sitting in the passenger seat of his car, a dead body less than fifty feet away… Jongdae realizes that no, Sehun is _not_ a kid, and no, Jongdae does _not_ need to hold his hand and tell him what to do. 

It’s an unsettling thought. Jongdae has always looked out for Sehun like a brother. From high school, to college, to the academy and even working in the same damn office in neighboring cubicles, Jongdae has always kept a watchful eye on Sehun. He had no idea that he was suffocating the other. Guilt starts to creep up Jongdae’s spine.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, fingers flexing their grip on the steering wheel. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to be like that.”

Sehun lets out a breath. “I know. And hey, I really— I appreciate all you’ve done for me, ok?”

Jongdae has a feeling that Sehun is putting on a false sense of bravado to save Jongdae’s conscience. Sehun has grown increasingly worried for his sake over the past few weeks, especially since Jongdae is heading the Kai case. He knows he shouldn’t be hiding things from Sehun, like the fact that Kai has sought him out twice, but he also knows that telling Sehun (or anyone, really) would just cause a riot. 

“I know,” Jongdae finally says. He offers Sehun a small smile. “To be honest, I wouldn’t want to work with anyone else, anyway.”

Sehun sends him a wry smile, “You’re stuck with me, no matter how much of an asshole you are.”

Jongdae reaches over to ruffle Sehun’s hair, “That’s my boy.”

—

Sweat is dripping into Jongdae’s eyes, his shirt and sweatpants soaked with it. He’s been pummeling a punching bag for an hour straight, punches and kicks and muffled yells. He’s angry at so much. Angry at Jongin, for suggesting that he kill Kai instead of arrest him. Angry at Joonmyun for being careless and getting killed. Angry at Kyungsoon for being such an easy target. Angry at Kai for being the epicenter of all these problems.

Most of all, Jongdae is angry at himself. 

No amount of training in the academy could have prepared him to deal with a serial killer of this caliber. Things like this happen in movies, not in everyday life. Things like this come out of the suspense and mystery novels that Sehun used to read in college. Jongdae is not a main character. He’s not a protagonist, he’s not the savior. 

A badly aimed punch at the bag has Jongdae’s wrist throbbing in pain and he hisses, cradling his hand to his chest and breathing heavily. His knuckles are bloody, the tape securing his wrists fraying a bit around the edges. Taking a few steps back, he does his best to catch his breath. He’s the only one in the training facility, a single, flickering light on overhead. Sitting down heavily on a bench, he puts his elbows on his knees and his fingers in his hair, tugging a few times. Kai hasn’t been seen for two weeks. No bodies have turned up, and Jongdae hasn’t had any ‘friendly’ visits. Everything has gone cold.

Six people have died in the past four months. Six people have had their flesh carved with weird, hieroglyphic-like symbols — six people have died for some weird cause that Jongdae can’t even begin to fathom. It’s all part of something bigger, that he knows. Kai, for all his lunacy, has a method to his madness. Jongdae wants to think that his attacks are at random, that he’s just targeting people who are convenient, but it’s got to be more than that. The evidence is in the fact that Kai didn’t kill that woman, the first night he and Jongdae met face to face. After their encounter he had gone off to find someone else, specifically, to kill.

Jongdae hasn’t found any connections between the victims. None of them knew each other. All of them lived in different parts of the city. Almost all of them had individual careers that didn’t overlap with one another.

There’s one detail that has been on Jongdae’s mind — one that has gotten him to this point, angry and punching at an inanimate object until his knuckles bleed.

All of them knew Jongdae.

Somehow, in some way or another, each one of the victims have come into contact with Jongdae. Joonmyun, a fellow detective. Kyungsoon, his barista. Chanyeol, a bartender that served Jongdae and Sehun once. Baekhyun worked at a record store that Jongdae had bought an album from his freshman year of college. Yixing and Luhan were exchange students that Jongdae tutored in high school.

Varying levels of involvement with Jongdae, varying levels of importance all the way from ‘I haven’t seen them in a decade’ to ‘I see them every day’. This connection, this… red string of fate has tied everything together, and Jongdae doesn’t know what to make of it. Does this mean that he’s going to be a target? Does Kai have something against Jongdae? Why is he going after the people that Jongdae has come into contact with? 

Why hadn’t Jongdae seen it sooner? 

He really needs a stronger stomach. Thinking about this connection fills him with dread. Who else is at risk? Obviously the men in the precinct. All of them have bullseyes on their backs and they don’t even know it. And what’s worse is that Jongdae doesn’t know who’s going to be targeted next. It could be anyone.

It could be someone _outside_ of the precinct that gets killed. Jongdae can’t even begin to fathom who could be next on Kai’s agenda. Some of the victims he had exchanged polite small talk with and never saw them again. 

Groaning, he’s filled with unease as he straightens his back and tilts his chin up so he can look at the flickering light above him. He smiled at a kid today on the street. Would that innocent life be taken? He goes to the same corner store all the time, are the employees there in danger? There are too many possibilities. Too many people who could now technically be considered high risk and Jongdae can’t make heads or tails of it. People close to him, people he doesn’t even know the name of, neighbors, strangers...

He just doesn’t understand. Why is he in the middle of all of it? 

Standing up, he grabs a towel from the clean rack against the wall and starts mopping the sweat off of his face and neck. He buries his face in the scratchy linen and presses it between his face and his palms, inhaling the clean detergent, before letting out a slow exhale.

The light flickers off.

“Looks like you’re starting to understand~” comes Kai’s eerie voice, floating in the echoes of the room.

Jongdae goes rigid and lowers the towel. It wouldn’t take much for his adrenaline to jump again. If Kai gets close, could he disable him? The guy seems so scrawny — Jongdae is easily much stronger than him. But is that actually true? Given how many people Jongin has slain? How many _capable_ men Jongin has taken down?

“Why are you killing them?” Jongdae asks the question he’s been trying to find an answer to for almost five months now. He can’t see anything, the room pitch black, and he can’t sense if Kai is anywhere near him.

“I’ll tell you,” Kai sing-songs in that lunatic tone. “Only if you promise to do something about it.”

Jongdae’s jaw clenches. “What am I supposed to do about it?”

“Ah, that’s for you to decide~” Kai says gleefully. “I will answer three questions to my liking.”

That’s not in Jongdae’s favor. Kai, with his manic state, is likely to be as wishy-washy as ever. Even if Jongdae asks him what two-plus-two is, he might not feel obligated to give him an answer. It’s a gamble. Jongdae has faced a lot of those lately.

“Why are they all people I’ve had contact with?” Jongdae asks into the darkness, staying stock still.

Kai makes a negative noise. “Next question.”

Jongdae’s fingers flex, his bruised knuckles splitting open a bit. “Why the symbols?”

“I’m going to revive it,” Kai replies eagerly. “Once all the elements combine, it will be whole again.”

The first thing that pops into Jongdae’s mind is a cult of some sort. People doing ritualistic killings to meet a higher end. Usually cult killings end in a mass suicide, but Kai is only one person, and as manic as he is Jongdae doesn’t think he’d kill himself so easily. 

“What will be whole again?” Jongdae asks.

“The tree!” Kai shouts gleefully. “The tree will be alive again and we will all take what is rightfully ours.”

“What tree?” Jongdae asks, heavily confused. 

“Sorry, three questions have been asked~”

“But you only answered two,” Jongdae argues hotly.

“I said I would answer the questions that I liked.”

He’s not wrong. Jongdae wrings the towel in his hands in annoyance. “You said you would answer _three_ questions to your liking.”

Kai hums, seemingly in thought. “That’s true… ok, then. One more question. But I _have_ to like this one or else I won’t answer it.”

Jongdae resists the urge to sigh in irritation. Kai is either incredibly devious, or a child.

“Are you going to kill me?”

There’s a long pause in which Jongdae is pretty sure Kai has disappeared like he did in the corner store. But then a slow chuckle fills the room, one dark and ghostly that makes the hair raise on Jongdae’s body. 

“No, Detective. I am not going to kill you.”

The light flickers back on and startles Jongdae enough that he yelps, clutching at his chest and breathing hard. He looks around the room to find himself alone in it, and he feels his stomach starting to heave — he breathes heavily, determined not to throw up. He needs to get a grip on himself. Stumbling towards the lockers, it takes him a few times to unlock his own, and once he does his bag slips from his grip and falls onto the ground. Cursing, he crouches to pick it up, and when he stands he almost has another heart attack.

Jongin is standing at the doorway, looking at Jongdae with a confused twist in his brow. “Jongdae? What are you doing here?” He’s still in his suit, his tie loosened and his briefcase in his hand. He takes in Jongdae’s state, and then blinks. “You look like shit. Are you ok?”

Jongdae lets out a hollow laugh, finally gathering all of his things. He shuts his locker and starts unwrapping his fists, shaking his head. “No, I’m not ok.”

Jongin seems to hesitate. “I know that this case is— I— you’re my best detective, Jongdae.” Now that Joonmyun is dead. “There’s no one else that can handle this case. I know you’ll crack it.”

Jongdae laughs, this time with a bit more bass to it. “Will I? Will I ever fucking figure it out?” He finishes unwrapping his hands and stuffs the tape into his bag, before his shaky fingers try to zip up his duffel. “I’ve seen the motherfucker three times, Jongin. _Three times_ I have seen him face to face and I’m just as lost as I was on the first day.”

“You’ve seen him again?” Jongin can’t hide his surprise. “As in, after the first time you told me?”

Nodding, Jongdae gives up on zipping his duffel bag and picks it up, hauling it over his shoulder. “Yeah.”

Jongin takes a few steps closer. “Jongdae, that’s— why haven’t you reported it to me?”

“People are _dying_ ,” Jongdae says, irrational anger bubbling in his voice. He has no right to be mad at Jongin. “People are dying and if I’m not careful, more people I know will die.”

Jongin looks perplexed. “Are you saying you’re connected to the victims?”

Jongdae runs his grimy hands over his face, dragging his features down before nodding. “Every single one of them, whether they were a friend or an acquaintance from ten years ago.”

The Chief looks pale under the gross fluorescent lights. “So you’re saying…”

“He said he’s not going to kill me,” Jongdae says quickly. “But for all of this, I don’t know if him keeping me alive at the end will be worth it.” Of course, knowing that people have died, and more people are bound to… Knowing that he, in the midst of it, will come out unharmed is unsettling, to say the least.

“It’ll be worth it,” Jongin says, closing the distance and grabbing Jongdae by the shoulders to give him a light shake. “It’ll be worth it because you’ll catch him, Jongdae. You’re going to catch him and put him away.”

Jongdae doesn’t have the energy to argue. Doesn’t have the energy to bring up the fact that he’s basically buddy-buddy with Seoul’s most vicious serial killer, doesn’t have the energy to mention that he has had more than one opportunity to put cuffs on the man. 

Every time Kai has gotten away, a part of Jongdae wonders if he had _let_ it happen.

“Jongdae,” Jongin says softly. 

Jongdae looks up. Jongin’s hands are still on his shoulders, grounding him to the real world, his eyes bright and worried. 

“You can do it,” Jongin assures him.

It feels a bit like slow motion. One second Jongin’s fingers are squeezing Jongdae’s shoulders, and then Jongdae is watching him lean in, head tilted, lips parted. He could probably count the stubble on the man’s upper lip. And then finally, Jongin’s lips are on Jongdae’s and he’s kissing him, Jongin is _kissing Jongdae_ firmly and comfortingly. How long has it been since Jongdae has been kissed? How long since someone had cared for him? 

How long has his Chief harbored romantic feelings for him?

Jongdae reaches up, hands on Jongin’s chest to push him away — not unkindly. Jongdae has never kissed a man before. Never even considered looking at a man in a way that was more than platonic. But he’s not an asshole, and he’s not a homophobe either, certainly. When their lips part Jongin looks a little dazed, starstruck, and Jongdae has to take a step back to create distance between them.

“Jongin,” Jongdae says, voice measured. “That was unacceptable.”

He can see the panic flash through Jongin’s eyes, as if realization of what he had done hits him belatedly. “I— oh my God.”

Jongdae tries to offer a small smile, but it comes out forced. “Relations between a Chief and his officer should stay professional.”

“Right,” Jongin immediately agrees, even if Jongdae is sure he’s just scared shitless that he just kissed one of his male officers. “I— I’m sorry. It was inappropriate of me to assume…”

“I can’t accept your feelings,” Jongdae says. It hurts him, a little bit, that he has to reject Jongin. He respects the man so much, and cares for him deeply as a comrade and a friend. He knows he’s breaking Jongin’s heart. But Jongin is not only his Chief… he’s in danger of being targeted by Kai.

“Of course,” Jongin lets out a frayed laugh, running a hand through his neat hair and staring at the ground. “I um. I’ll lock up. You go ahead and go home, get some rest.”

Jongdae doesn’t hesitate in leaving. He makes sure he has all of his belongings and then walks past Jongin, careful that they’re not within two feet of one another. When he leaves the training center and emerges into the chilly night, he stares up at the black sky. 

No stars in the city.

Things have never seemed so complicated.

—

“What the fuck do these even mean?” Sehun’s voice is bordering on a whine as he slumps down in Jongdae’s worn, comfortable couch. The Kai case files are spread over Jongdae’s coffee table, some even in Sehun’s lap, and from the kitchen where he’s cutting a pizza, Jongdae lets out a suffering sigh.

When he comes out with two plates of pizza and two beers, he sits down next to Sehun and shakes his head. Photos of the crime scenes are laid out - specifically, photos of the symbols that Kai has carved into his victims. In silver, bright sharpie Jongdae has outlined each symbol, making it clearly visible as to what it is to the untrained eye. Plus, the sharpie on the paper makes it easier to focus on the symbol and not the rotting flesh it’s cut into. 

“I don’t know. I did a bunch of research on ancient symbols from all over the world and nothing is similar. I even went to the university and picked the professors’ brains and no one can find anything remotely similar.” Jongdae cracks open his beer and chugs half of it, setting the can down atop a picture of a cigarette butt, which had been ruled as irrelevant to the crime scene it was next to.

“They look like crop circles,” Sehun grouses, as he takes a bite of pizza, eyes scanning over the photos. Sehun had been pulled off of Joonmyun’s case, and he’d been doing mundane desk work again in the meantime… but he refused to let Jongdae work on the Kai case alone. And they’re breaking a few rules by discussing things like this - Jongdae could get in an enormous amount of trouble for it - but while they’re breaking rules, Jongdae feels like they’re close to a breakthrough.

“Crop circles,” Jongdae snorts, taking a bite of pizza and looking over the symbols again. And again, and again, and… “Crop circles.” Jongdae straightens a bit, something clicking in his head. Setting his pizza aside he wipes his hands quickly on a paper towel, gears turning in his head as he pulls his laptop closer, fingers typing in a few keywords into the search bar. Thousands of results for ‘crop circles’ show up, and Sehun leans closer.

“I was… kidding,” Sehun says slowly, trying to see what Jongdae is seeing.

And Jongdae is seeing a possibility he never thought of before. “I did some cross-referencing of Satanic cults to see if I could find the symbols. Y’know, because the professors at the university mostly deal with things like… Aztecs, or Egyptians. I didn’t think to look at something more modern. The only recognizable symbols that we have are a phoenix and a unicorn. The other symbols don’t really mean much. This one,” Jongdae points at the crime scene photo from Joonmyun’s death, “looks like it might be a water droplet. And this one,” he points to the bartender’s arm, “might be a star?” Jongdae leans back a bit. “Traditionally, in modern symbolism those don’t mean much. A phoenix means rebirth and a unicorn might mean to heal - but no one is using those symbols, religiously or otherwise. And the symbols that I don’t recognize…” he frowns, tapping his fingers over Kyungsoon’s and Luhan’s photos. “They have to have some meaning, like the other ones. There’s no way that they don’t.”

“Wait,” Sehun leans back, tapping on Luhan’s photo. “This one really does look like a crop circle, though. Or maybe— it kind of looks like the ‘on’ button to something high tech, right? If we’re going onto the alien theme.” He exhales, then laughs and shakes his head. “Which is ridiculous by the way. Are you seriously considering that Kai is an alien?”

“That’s ridiculous,” Jongdae snorts, waving a hand. “But what if he’s part of some alien cult? His killings are ritualistic. He has an end game, somewhere.” Jongdae feels the vibration of excitement at this epiphany. Is this the break he’s been waiting for?

“If these were cult killings how come they’re only happening in South Korea? Specifically in Seoul?” Sehun frowns. 

Jongdae runs a hand through his hair. “Think, think…” he mutters to himself, looking at all of the photos. The mask Kai was wearing the first time they met flashes through his mind, and Jongdae sits up straight. “He’s the leader.” 

“What?” Sehun asks.

Jongdae lines up all of the photos of the symbols, from the first to the latest, and then sits back with his knuckles under his chin, staring down at them. “He’s starting something.” 

_Revive the tree!_

Kai’s giggling, manic voice echoes in Jongdae’s head and he shakes it a little, trying to get the voice out. He slaps his cheek a few times, and Sehun stares on, confused. 

“What is he starting? This isn’t some sort of anarchy,” Sehun glances down at the photos as well. 

Jongdae can’t tell Sehun that he’s met Kai. He can’t tell Sehun that he has been in the midst of a murderer and didn’t do anything about it. One reason is for Sehun’s safety: Jongdae knows that Kai would know the instant he told Sehun about it. The other reason is for Sehun’s sanity. Jongdae knows he’s fragile, even if things for him have returned to relative normalcy. 

“I don’t know what he’s starting,” Jongdae says, and he picks up the photo of Luhan’s symbol, eyeing it carefully, thoughtfully. “A power button, huh…?” 

“It reminds me of something you see in like, a futuristic movie. Where everything is fingerprint activated and they scan your eyes for your I.D.,” Sehun says, stuffing more pizza in his face. “That looks like it’s supposed to be like some sort of thumb print.

“Yeah,” Jongdae agrees, and then sets the photo down again. He feels a little less lost, now, even if the whole ‘alien’ thing just… boggles his mind. He pulls his laptop closer, “How the hell am I supposed to look up ‘alien cults’...?” 

Sehun grins, “You should bring Minseok onto the case. He’d be able to hack into the servers and find you whatever you’re looking for.” 

Jongdae hesitates, “I don’t know… When Jongin gave me this case, he gave it to me only. He didn’t give me a team, like he did Joonmyun.”

“You’ve got me,” Sehun shrugs. “Unofficially. And you could have Minseok too. Chief won’t know what he’s doing, Minseok is good at covering up breadcrumbs and no one in our precinct can work the internet like he can.”

Sehun has a very, very good point, and Jongdae can’t ignore the fact that his own computer skills are limited to Naver and Google searches. His conscience, however, is resisting. He can’t get anyone else involved. Then again… Everyone he knows is already at risk, anyway. Minseok is good. And he’s a good man. Biting his knuckle, Jongdae picks up his phone, pulling up Minseok’s contact info. 

“Don’t tell a single soul,” Jongdae warns Sehun.

Sehun replies by zipping his lips, grinning huge.

Jongdae hopes he doesn’t come to regret this.

—

Camping out at Jongdae’s apartment on the weekends becomes the norm for Sehun and Minseok. So far they haven’t aroused any suspicion from anyone else in the department or, thankfully, Jongin, about their activities, but they’re never too careful. Things are business as usual at work, and then once they’re in the privacy of Jongdae’s apartment, they scour through everything they’ve gathered throughout the week.

“This is so crazy,” Minseok says from his spot at the kitchen table. He needed a big area for two laptops and a PC, so Jongdae sacrificed half his kitchen to him. Not that they do much in there anyway, since they’ve been living off of take out and frozen dinners.

Sehun and Jongdae rise from the couch to join Minseok in the kitchen, looking over his shoulder. 

“What is?” Sehun asks, adjusting the sucker in his mouth. 

“I’m not really finding any hits on the symbols,” Minseok says, “but I’ve been doing some digging.”

Sehun groans. “You _do_ know that when they say that in the movies, it turns out that the ‘digging’ was highly illegal and compromised basically everything in the investigation?”

Minseok sends a sunny smile over his shoulder. “Yeah.”

Jongdae groans. “What did you get into?”

“Chief’s computer,” Minseok says, rubbing his hands together. “He assigned the case to you, Jongdae, but he’s been doing a lot of digging of his own. Lots of searches for religious symbols, cults, and it even looks like he managed to find his way to the ‘alien’ theory as well.”

“Why are you looking into this?” Jongdae straightens, a hand on his hip while the other runs through his hair in exasperation. 

“Why is the Chief busying himself with the investigation that he handed off to someone else? He has hundreds of cases in a week that he needs to tend to, on top of supervising his team. He shouldn’t have time to look at all of this stuff.”

Jongdae rolls his eyes. “You do know that as part of his team and as the person he assigned the case to, I have to forward my findings and thoughts to him? What you’re looking at is probably him clicking on what I’ve linked him.”

“Probably,” Minseok says with a shrug. “But that doesn’t justify the time stamps. He’s on his office computer almost twenty-four-seven. Unless he’s set up a proxy so he can access his work files while at home - which I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know how to do - this means that Jongin has been at the office non-stop since the Kai case started.”

Jongdae frowns. “I see him come and go all the time. He’s always showered and doesn’t repeat outfits too close together. Those aren’t signs of someone camping out in their office.”

“Maybe he goes home for a little bit every night to freshen up?” Sehun suggests.

Minseok shakes his head. “Check out the times, though.” he points at the screen. “Log on at clock-in at six in the morning. He stays logged in throughout his breaks and lunches. Activities, like when the monitor is woken up by the mouse or whenever something is typed on the keyboard, are virtually non-stop. I don’t see a break for longer than forty-five minutes on any of the activity.”

“His commute on the subway takes an hour,” Sehun says, confusion in his voice.

“What about nightly? After everyone goes home,” Jongdae asks, leaning forward with a hand on the table, the other hand on the back of Minseok’s chair as he looks at the screen. 

“Ummm,” Minseok types a few things, clicks around. “If we average that six p.m. is normal clock-off time, he’s there. His employee ID clocks out on the time card, but his computer stays active.”

“That’s wrong,” Sehun suddenly says. “I’ve _seen_ him get on the subway to go home. We even rode together last week to the barbecue place by his house. I was with him the whole time, like two hours.”

“What date?” Minseok asks. Sehun relays the information and Minseok types it in. He sits back in his chair, whistling. “His stuff was active. Like he never even left the office.”

“What about screen savers?” Jongdae asks. “Is his computer just in sleep mode? The apps would all be minimized but they’d still be running in the background.”

Minseok shakes his head. “No, it’s full-blown activity, like I said. Mouse shakes and keyboard strokes.”

Sehun straightens and folds his arms across his chest. “Ok, so— what does that have to do with the Kai case? Our boss is an over-achiever, we’ve all known that since day one. That’s why he’s younger than us and can kick all our asses.”

“It doesn’t strike you as odd?” Minseok asks. He doesn’t sound puzzled, but excited. “Literally since the first report of Kai’s murders, Jongin’s activity has been wild. Before then, it was virtually static. He rarely did too much on his computer; that’s why there are desk cops and secretaries.”

“The case is personal for all of us,” Jongdae says. He doesn’t know why he sounds defensive. “There’s no way any of us would just sit by and not look into it.” 

“Ok but how do you explain all of the activity? And why so much of it, every hour of every day without breaks?” Minseok sits back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest and drumming his fingers over his biceps. “You heard Sehun. It’s not possible. Jongin can’t be in two places at once. And he definitely has to sleep some time.”

The room falls silent while they all stare at the computer. The evidence is right there. And they’re detectives, so of course they’ve talked it out and ruled out all possibilities. That’s what they do. Debunk every mystery until they find the result. The only thing… is that there is no result. Just a giant question mark as to what on Earth is going on in Jongin’s office at all hours of the day. 

“Woah,” Minseok jolts them all out of their thoughts. “Woah woah woah—” he leans forward. On the screen of the laptop he’d been monitoring Jongin on, his cursor goes wild. “Who’s this?” he asks curiously. 

“Is someone hacking you?” Sehun asks, frowning. “Minseok, you gotta shut it down.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Minseok says. He starts typing on his keyboard, an entire foreign language of tech jargon that Sehun and Jongdae will never understand flashing in tiny boxes on the screen. Just as Minseok is about to press enter to seal the deal and block out the hacker, a new window pops up.

It’s a black screen, and for a moment, they all just stare at it. Nothing happens. His computers go silent, their fans turning off. In the middle of the pop up a white mask appears, and Jongdae recognizes it as the one Kai had been wearing the night they first met. He chokes on his spit, his heart thudding, and Minseok and Sehun blink in confusion. The mask starts rotating, red eyes flashing, and Minseok starts hurriedly typing on his computer.

“No, no, no no no no no—” he says, voice turning desperate. “Don’t you dare, you motherfucker—”

One of his laptops shuts down. Sehun covers his mouth to quiet his heavy breathing, and Jongdae stares at the mask — pictures of the symbols from the crime scenes flash across the screen and Minseok is still typing away, the mask at the center of them all, and then—

“Fuck.” Minseok exhales, the pop-up gone. His other laptop starts to boot back up, the PC making some noise to signal that it’s still alive. Everyone is on edge, as Minseok leans back and rubs his face, letting out a whooshing breath. 

“Hey,” Sehun leans forward again, pointing at the screen. “Jongin’s activity just went dead.”

They all stare at the screen, leaning in curiously. 

When Jongdae’s phone rings in his pocket, he yelps and jumps back. Minseok and Sehun jump as well, and then they all mutter out various expletives while Jongdae pulls his phone out of his pocket.

“It’s… Chief,” Jongin says. His heart is beating a million miles an hour. 

“Why is he calling you on a Saturday night?” Sehun asks.

Minseok turns back to his computer as Jongdae answers the phone.

“Chief?” he answers, trying not to sound as freaked out as he feels.

“Jongdae,” Jongin greets, his voice sounding grave.

“Guys,” Minseok suddenly says, waving for their attention. The pop-up is back on his screen, and all of the symbols are there, digital masterpieces of their fleshy counterparts. 

A seventh symbol flickers into existence.

Jongin’s voice sounds distant as Jongdae drops the phone.

“There’s been another murder.”

—

“Wu Yifan,” Jongin says, dropping a case file down onto the meeting room table. “Of Guangzhou, China. He was found dead in his apartment two days ago.” 

Jongdae frowns. Of course, Jongin had called him, supposedly the only officer working on the Kai case, and Jongdae had shown up alone to meet Jongin in the conference room. Ingesting the information, Jongdae pulls the case file to him, eyes landing on the driver’s license photo of a very handsome foreigner.

“China is out of our jurisdiction by a long shot,” Jongdae says, “and two days ago might as well have been two years ago. Why are we just now getting the information?” He flips through the crime scene photos. “I don’t see a symbol carved onto his body.”

“Because it’s not on his body,” Jongin says, frowning as well. He’s standing on the other side of the table, hands in his pockets, fingers jingling his keys idly. “Forensics missed it the first time, but when Yifan’s girlfriend went to go collect her belongings from the apartment, she found it. Flip to the last page.”

Jongdae does as instructed, and he blinks. In Yifan’s kitchen, on the backsplash behind the oven, is what looks like a dragon burned onto the tile. Squinting, Jongdae brings the photo closer to his face. “It looks like it was put there with a cattle prod.” It’s singed into the tile, the edges rough and blown out. Almost like an explosion. But that doesn’t make any sort of sense.

“Preliminary cause of death is asphyxiation,” Jongin says, finally taking a seat. He folds his hands on the table while Jongdae looks at the photos, and before Jongdae can say anything, Jongin interrupts. “I don’t believe it either. The coroner is working on a toxicology report but… Look at him, Jongdae. Not a hair is out of place.”

Jongdae lets out a sigh as he looks at Yifan’s photos. There are no bruises, no signs of a struggle, no marks around his neck to signify any sort of strangling. Aside from his eyes being open and lifeless, his mouth open to let his soul depart, Yifan’s death looks… remarkably peaceful, compared to what they’ve seen here.

“So you’re telling me Kai is jumping borders?” Jongdae shakes his head. “No. This has got to be a copycat. Some fanatic that got his rocks off and wants to blame it on someone else.”

“But how did he _die_ ,” Jongin asks, and Jongdae knows he’s not asking him specifically. 

“Who cares?” Jongdae closes the file and leans forward a bit in his seat so he can look at Jongin earnestly. He examines the Chief’s face, and then sighs softly. “Look. We’re all on edge, Jongin. Every last one of us. I know Guangzhou sent this file to us so we can give them some answers, but we can’t.” he looks down at the closed file, and then sits back in his seat. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s Kai,” Jongin snaps. 

Jongdae blinks in surprise. Jongin has never, ever gotten snappy with him before. Jongin looks agitated, his knee bouncing, fingers fidgeting atop the table. Hesitating for only a moment, Jongdae stands up and makes his way to the other side of the table, resting his hand on Jongin’s shoulder. He squeezes, and then chooses his next words carefully.

“Maybe… you should take some time off,” he suggests. “You don’t look well.”

Jongin moves his hands to bury his face in them, his elbows digging into the table. His frame is trembling and Jongdae feels for him, he really does. Both hands move to Jongin’s shoulders and Jongdae massages gently, hoping he’s not crossing any boundaries.

“Take a few days off, Jongin. Get some sleep. Eat real food. Cut the caffeine.” he says softly, and with each rub of his fingers, he feels Jongin relaxing. “Take your laptop home so you can keep supervising but just— take a break. You need it.”

Jongin leans back in his chair, tipping his head back so he can look up at Jongdae. He looks older than ever before, eyes tired, the smile lines on either side of his mouth deepening into frown lines. Jongdae hates it. What happened to the youthful, handsome lady-killer chief?

Kai.

“Thank you, Jongdae,” Jongin finally says, reaching up to gently pat Jongdae’s hands. Jongdae pulls them away, the contact almost burning. Jongin doesn’t seem to notice. “I think… I think I will take a break.” he stands up, rolling his shoulders and rotating his neck. When he turns to look at Jongdae, Jongdae sees a trace of the vibrant, dedicated man Jongin had been just six months ago. Jongin smiles, and Jongdae feels a bit of relief. “You really think things will be ok? The case…”

Jongdae shakes his head and smiles, taking a step back. All of a sudden, he feels like Jongin’s presence is closing in on him. “It’s fine. Aside from this, there hasn’t been much activity from Kai.” No murders, no stalking Jongdae in the streets. “The second we need you, I’ll call.”

The relief in Jongin’s smile is contagious. He claps Jongdae on the shoulder, and then turns to head out of the office. “I promise I’ll at least cut back on the caffeine,” he says, before he exits the room.

Left alone, Jongdae looks down at the closed case file. 

“Wu Yifan,” Jongdae murmurs to himself, reaching across the table to grab the manila folder. He opens it up, pulling out the last photo. “The dragon.” His finger traces over the scorched symbol on the wall, and then he flicks the photo idly against his palm. 

He’s going to look into this.

Something doesn’t seem right.

—

Jongdae has to wait until Monday before he can talk to the Guangzhou coroner to get any details. He’s sitting at his desk and when he hangs up the phone he’s left very, very confused.

“So what’s the scoop?” Sehun asks, coming around the corner to sit on the edge of Jongdae’s desk. He’s crunching on an apple and Jongdae rubs his temples idly to ignore the noise.

“Asphyxiation.” 

Sehun frowns, reaching over to grab the case file. He’d looked it over earlier, but now he’s studying Yifan’s photos again. “But there’s… no marks. What did he suffocate from?”

“Smoke inhalation,” Jongdae says, leaning back in his chair. It creaks with his movement, as he stares blankly at the file in Sehun’s hand. “His lungs and throat were charred.”

Sehun’s brows scrunch up. “But— there was no fire damage anywhere else in the apartment. And no offense to the dead but this guy looks like too much of a tight wad to be a smoker.”

“Right,” Jongdae agrees, tipping his head back and staring at the ceiling. “So how does a person die from smoke inhalation, when there was no fire to speak of?”

Sehun stares at the photo of the symbol. “I mean— this looks charred. Like it was burned into the tile. But that’s it.” 

Jongdae reaches out to take the photo from Sehun, holding it down in his lap, chin tucked to his chest as he examines the burnt lines, the perfect symmetry. “It just doesn’t make sense. If this really was Kai, why isn’t the body mutilated? Why isn’t the symbol cut into the skin? He doesn’t seem the type to change his M.O. in the middle of a spree, that just wouldn’t make sense.”

“Does _Kai_ make sense?” Sehun asks, a little huffy. “He’s a serial killer, dude.”

“But he’s ritualistic.” Jongdae insists, shaking the photo a bit. “Something had to have changed that made him change his pattern. Something was different about Yifan.”

“There are no connections between Yifan and the other victims,” Sehun reminds Jongdae. “Maybe that’s what’s different?”

Jongdae racks his brain. All of the previous victims had been connected to _him_ in some way or another. But Yifan? Jongdae has never been in China, let alone met a man as striking as this. He’d remember. His profile says he’s 6’3” and that’s a height Jongdae doesn’t forget easily. 

Think, think, think.

Exhaling shortly, Jongdae stands up, his chair squeakily rolling away. “I’m going to go get some air up on the roof. I’ll be back.” 

Sehun just shrugs and takes the photo back, and Jongdae leaves the office area, heading to the staircase that will take him up to the roof. The sound of his shoes clacking on the metal stairs brings a little bit of clarity to his jumbled thoughts, and once he’s out in the open with the high breeze sliding over his face he feels a bit more… peaceful. Not any more at rest, he supposes, but he’ll take what he can get.

There’s a few lawn chairs scattered about for the officers that like to come up and smoke and hang out, and Jongdae takes up residence in one that hasn’t been beaten too badly by the weather. He crosses his legs and leans back, looking up at the sky. For once, he would like to forget about all of this. Well— maybe not forget about it, but just… clear a space in his mind so that he doesn’t have to think about it constantly.

He closes his eyes, sinking down into the worn chair, the sun passing through the crisp Spring air to warm his bones.

“Jongdae, Jongdae, Jongdae…”

The cajoling voice jolts Jongdae out of the impromptu nap, and he sits bolt upright immediately, glancing around to find the man he knows that voice belongs to. Sure enough, Kai is sitting in the chair next to him, looking all sorts of casual with his ankle over his knee and his fingers laced behind his head. He’s wearing the white mask and a smile and Jongdae immediately stands up, taking a few steps away.

“I’m dreaming,” Jongdae says firmly.

Kai pouts, uncrossing his legs and putting his hands on his knees, leaning forward a bit. “Now, that’s just mean. Aren’t you happy to see me?” his head tilts, and then a smirk filters over his features. “Or… do you dream of me often, Detective?”

Jongdae feels a shudder of repulsion filter through his body. “You wish.”

“Ah, I do,” Kai sighs wistfully, leaning back in the chair again. He reaches over to pat the chair Jongdae had just vacated, “Why don’t you sit down? Relax a little. You’ve been working so hard.”

“I’m dreaming,” Jongdae says again, staying still.

Kai purses his lips, and then clucks his tongue. “You’re very awake, Jongdae. I can do many things, but getting into your brain is something I’m not talented in.” his lips curl into another smirk. “That talent is reserved for my darling little deer.”

Jongdae clenches his teeth.

“Now,” Kai drums his fingers over his knees, “I’m very hurt you think that a copycat killed the dragon.” Another pout. His lips are so full, youthful. “I must say, getting to him was very difficult, but it was all worth it in the end.” A dreamy sigh. “Quite a clever way for him to die, hm?”

“How did you do it?” Jongdae finds himself asking. No, idiot, you should be turning him in! Cuffing him, tackling him, calling for backup!

“Dragons breathe fire,” Kai says casually, inspecting his nails. “Don’t you think that, at some point, they’d get burned?”

“Yifan was a _person_ ,” Jongdae bites out. “Quit playing games with me.”

“But it’s the truth—” Kai’s head tilts, and Jongdae assumes that behind the eyeless mask, he’s looking right at him. “Why would I lie to you, Detective?”

“Because you’re a sociopath,” Jongdae says lowly, taking a step forward. “I can’t believe a word that comes out of your mouth.”

Sighing heavily, Kai shrugs. “If that’s how you want to see things, then I can’t change it. I’ve never lied to you, and I never will.”

Of the few times Jongdae has met Kai, he’s built a pretty decent profile of him. Right now Kai seems to be swinging between the maniacal killer and the naive boy that followed Jongdae to the corner store, and Jongdae is taking his time playing the field just to be safe — just to maybe, if he’s lucky, coerce some useful information out of Kai.

“Why wouldn’t you lie to me?” Jongdae asks. It’s been about ten minutes, and if he knows Sehun, he’ll be coming up those steps any minute to drag Jongdae back to work. 

“Why did you tell your dear Chief to take a break?” Kai’s response makes Jongdae falter. Kai laughs lightly, “Could it be that you return his feelings?”

How does Kai know about that? Jongdae takes a few more steps forward, all the way until he’s standing directly in front of Kai, looming over him, eyes narrowed. “What did you say?”

“It’s awfully considerate of you to tell him to pull himself together,” Kai hums. “He was rather close to the edge.”

Kai has been watching them this whole time. Kai knows about Jongdae’s private conversations with Jongin and, undoubtedly, with Minseok and Sehun as well. A lightbulb goes off in Jongdae’s head.

“You’re the one keeping Jongin’s computer active.”

Kai’s head tilts so far to the side it’s almost grotesque, the smile he gives glinting dangerously. “Yes.”

“Why?” 

“Why not?” Kai lets out a high-pitched laugh and then suddenly stands, chest bumping against Jongdae’s. Jongdae’s hands fly to go on the defense but Kai’s strong fingers catch his wrists, and Kai holds the shorter man’s hands to his chest, leaning in so he can whisper. “Time’s almost up, Jongdae. Who am I?”

“I don’t know,” Jongdae growls, fighting every instinct to pull away from the killer.

“Who do you want me to be?” Kai’s breath flows over Jongdae’s lips and something about it seems… familiar. Kai’s grip is strong despite his scrawny frame, and Jongdae is acutely aware of the gun in his shoulder holster. If he can get even just one hand free— Kai leans in, words ghosting over the shell of Jongdae’s ear. “I know who I want you to be…”

“Jongdae?”

Jongdae’s eyes open and he gasps, almost falling off of the chair. He glances wildly around him and… doesn’t see Kai. Instead, Sehun is standing at the doorway, looking very confused and concerned as he walks over to where Jongdae is trying to catch his breath.

“Hey man, you ok?” he asks.

Jongdae runs a hand over his face. He had been dreaming. Right? Ruffling his hair a bit, he nods a few times, and then stands.

“Yeah— yeah. I just… I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Sehun looks incredibly wary, but he shrugs and smiles. “That’s ok. Cat naps are normal. Healthy. But what’s also normal and healthy is lunch time, and I’m starving, so… let’s get something to eat.”

Laughing a little about how frank Sehun can be, Jongdae nods and starts walking towards the door with him. “Yeah.”

A glance over his shoulder before he shuts the door shows him that the roof top is empty. The knowledge does nothing to settle his nerves.

BREAK

 

Jongdae still can’t figure out what the connection is, between him and Yifan. He looked up the Chinese man’s social media, stalked his finances, even found his school yearbooks online. They have not crossed paths even once. Kai didn’t give any useful information on their connection, either, but— then again… Jongdae didn’t even ask.

It’s another Saturday night at Jongdae’s apartment, Sehun and Minseok lounging on the couch and taking a break from the headache-inducing glare of the computer screens. Jongdae is leaning against the counter in his kitchen, arms folded across his chest as he stares at the backsplash behind his oven. He tries to imagine what it would take to burn something into the tile. Something really hot, no doubt. But that charred of a mark means that whatever had burned there, had burned for a while. Right? Because those lines were crisp, the edges neat and it was blacker than black and Jongdae can’t think of a single thing that could do that. His first instinct was to see if it was a sticker, some prank, but when CSI went back and scraped at it, nothing but burnt flecks fluttered down and dirtied the stove.

“Jongdae…”

Sehun’s soft voice brings Jongdae back to reality. The younger officer is entering the kitchen and rubbing his eyes, looking all sorts of sleepy as he fumbles to open the fridge.

“Hey,” Jongdae greets, smiling. He steps forward, “What are you after? I’ll grab it for you.”

“Cereal,” Sehun yawns, and then, like the spoiled brat he is, sits down at the kitchen table to allow Jongdae to fix him up a bowl. “Aren’t you even tired?”

“Exhausted,” Jongdae replies, setting the bowl down in front of Sehun and then sitting heavily across from him. “But every time I sleep…” He trails off. He won’t say out loud that he’s been having nightmares, dreams plagued with Kai’s laughter, his mask, his evil smile. But Sehun knows, and Sehun doesn’t expect Jongdae to spill his feelings, which is nice.

The sound of his cereal spoon scooping around in the bowl is rhythmic and oddly calming as he speaks, “Minseok’s out cold.” His cheeks puff out a little as he stares down into his bowl. “Kinda jealous that he can fall asleep that easily.”

“Hackers are a rare breed,” Jongdae chuckles a little. “They can fall asleep and wake up at will. Did you know he sleeps through his entire subway ride and still manages to get off on the right stop?”

Sehun shakes his head groggily. “I couldn’t do it.”

Jongdae shrugs a little.

“Hey…” Sehun’s foot nudges Jongdae’s underneath the table, making the older look over at him. “You haven’t really been eating. You’ve lost weight.” he nods his head towards the fridge. “You should have a meal. Like, maybe a real one that isn’t take-out or oven-ready.”

“But that takes effort,” Jongdae grouses. He’s not a chef in the first place and, especially when he’s stressed like this, he can barely think about how long it takes to make rice.

Sehun kicks his foot a little harder, glaring. “Eat something, Jongdae.”

“Ok, ok,” Jongdae stands up, rubbing his palms over his face. “Ok. Chicken and rice. Easy enough.”

“Make some veggies too,” Sehun says through a mouthful of cereal.

Jongdae spares him a narrow-eyed glance, “Don’t push it, or else I’ll shove some pickled radish down your throat.”

Sehun shudders and stands up, moving to quickly rinse his bowl and shout an “Enjoy your meal!” as he exits the kitchen. Shaking his head and smiling to himself, Jongdae sets about the rather mundane task of cooking. After about five minutes, he’s glad Sehun made the suggestion that he cook something for himself. It’s the perfect distraction, as he measures out the rice and the water to put into the rice cooker. He starts to heat up some oil in a pan and pulls out some frozen chicken breasts, running them under water to help thaw them out.

A knock on the door has the apartment going silent. Jongdae’s head whips around — no one should be visiting them. Everyone that needs to be here, is here. But it’s Sehun that gets up from the couch and answers the door and Jongdae strains his ears, unable to leave the hot stove unattended. The voice of a female infiltrates his apartment and Jongdae definitely can’t hide his curiosity now, as he lowers the heat and takes a few steps to peek through the doorway and have a look.

Woah. 

He feels his throat close up a little at the gorgeous woman that’s currently standing in his foyer. She’s got long, raven black hair and the sharpest, most feline eyes he’s ever seen. Definitely foreign. She has strong features, he can tell, but right now they’re softened by some emotion as Sehun greets her and hugs her, allowing her in.

“Jongdae—” Sehun starts to call, and then blinks when he sees Jongdae is already peeking. “Hey, this is my friend Zitao. Well I mean— we go to the same cafe sometimes.”

Jongdae smiles softly. It’s not against the rules to have anyone else here, but there’s a slight twinge of anxiety in his gut at meeting someone new. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says, before waving. “I gotta get back to cooking.”

She bows in greeting and then the scene disappears from Jongdae’s eyes as he returns to the stove. He can’t hear much save for the soft chatter in the living room, and when he’s finished cooking he decides to sit down at the table to eat. He’s incredibly wary of Zitao’s presence. Sehun has never mentioned Zitao before. Then again, the way he introduced her lets Jongdae know that they’re not the best of friends... So what brings Zitao to their camp out? There’s something about her, Jongdae felt it when their eyes locked, that he can’t put his finger on. 

The sound of the chair across from Jongdae scraping on the floor has his gaze lifting from his food. Zitao is standing in front of him, and she looks like every Asian damsel in distress from some independent gore film. It looks like she’s dressed to go to the club, halter top beautifully accentuating her trim, fit body, her shoulders and arms wrapped snugly in a faux fur jacket. Her mini skirt disappears from view as she sits, feline eyes regarding Jongdae curiously, imploringly. Curious as well, Jongdae sits up a bit straighter, setting down his utensils and leveling his gaze with hers.

“Can you help me?” she whispers. She’s a ghost of what she used to be, Jongdae thinks. He can see the fading vibrancy and youth in the bags under her eyes, in the downturn of the corners of her mouth. She folds manicured hands on the table, but her gaze never wavers, her spine straight, shoulders square.

“What do you need help with?” Jongdae asks, as conversationally as possible. She looks like she could spook at any moment.

“My boyfriend…”

With those two words, Jongdae’s ears pick up an accent. Foreign, indeed. His head tilts and he arches a brow, resting his elbows on the table and leaning forward a bit. Her voice is so soft, he doesn’t want to miss a word.

“...Was Wu Yifan.”

Jongdae feels the Earth come to a stop beneath his feet. Did he hear her correctly? He blinks a few times and then his brows knit as he leans forward a bit more, tilting his head a bit.

“I’m sorry, did you say that your boyfriend was Wu Yifan?” he asks, keeping his voice low.

She nods, her gaze still strong, a dull ember in her eyes glimmering even though her shoulders are trembling slightly. “Yes.”

A silence falls over them and Jongdae slowly sits back in his chair, using the back support heavily as his gaze drops down to his almost empty plate of food. His brain won’t kick into gear. The cogs are turning slowly, agonizingly, and he swallows thickly.

“Does Sehun know?” Jongdae’s gaze lifts back up to Zitao’s, and she shakes her head. “How did you know we were on the case?”

“It doesn’t take a detective to figure out when someone is stressed with a load they can’t handle,” Zitao says, and for a moment those dull embers in her eyes spark. “The last time I saw Sehun he was a wreck. He tried to tell me he got dumped but I know he’s been single since I’ve known him.” Her gaze drops momentarily. “Yifan and I were in a long-distance relationship.”

“Wait,” Jongdae pinches the bridge of his nose, his free hand waving idly to get Zitao to back up. “You went and collected your belongings from his apartment. What are you doing back so soon?”

Now it’s Zitao’s turn to look quizzical. “I… never left any belongings in his apartment. I’ve been in Seoul this whole time attending university.”

Jongdae stares, and then taps his finger on the table, trying to wrap his brain around the information. “The police report indicated that after the scene was cleaned up, Yifan’s girlfriend went back to the apartment to gather her stuff. It was then that she saw the dragon burned into the tile.”

“Dragon?” Zitao’s brows scrunch and she looks genuinely confused. “I— I never went back, I didn’t find out he was dead until this morning. Sehun can tell you — and my employer.” She then leans forward, “Someone said she was his girlfriend… and went to his apartment?”

“Yes,” Jongdae replies blandly. Wonderful. Now he’s sharing information with a civilian. A civilian connected to the case, and this has to be — … “Wait.” He feels dread starting to creep up the back of his throat. Zitao was Yifan’s girlfriend. Zitao knows Sehun. Sehun is connected to Jongdae, which, in a hugely roundabout way, makes Yifan connected to Jongdae. Suddenly losing his appetite, he stands up and takes his plate to the sink, motions mechanical as he starts to clean up.

“What?” Zitao is clearly lost with Jongdae’s sudden silence. “Who went to Yifan’s apartment? Mr. Kim—” 

“I don’t know,” Jongdae interrupts to keep her from raising her voice too much. He finishes cleaning up and then sits back down at the table, pulling the laptop towards him and starting to type in the keywords for Yifan’s case file to look it up. Zitao sits back in her chair, arms folded across her chest as she stares blankly at the surface of the table and Jongdae can’t imagine what she’s feeling. He doesn’t even know what he, himself, is feeling. After a few moments of searching he pulls up the police report and starts scanning through it, looking for the name of the supposed ‘girlfriend’ that went to Yifan’s apartment. 

Kim Kei.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Jongdae growls, slamming his laptop shut and burying his face in his hands. 

How diabolical is Kai going to get? Disguising himself like that, putting himself _at the scene of the crime_ , even giving an alias to the police. Jongdae feels his dinner sitting uncomfortably in his gut, and he starts racking his brain harder than ever. Kai went all the way to Guangzhou to go through the trouble of killing Yifan, and then took it a step further by placing himself in the midst of the investigation. For what purpose? 

Looking up at Zitao, Jongdae comes to the conclusion that she’s next. It’s a gut feeling more than anything, and he could be totally wrong, but he doesn’t want to risk it. She’s returning his gaze, the spark in her eyes a full-fledged blaze, lips set in a determined line and her body tense.

“Can you stay here?” Jongdae asks. 

She looks unbothered by the seemingly random question. “Am I in danger?” she asks.

“Yes,” Jongdae replies as evenly as possible. 

For a moment her gaze dips down to her hands, still folded on the table, a ring glinting on her left hand. She takes a steady breath and then nods her head, and Jongdae feels a slight relief. 

“We will keep you safe,” he says. He’s not sure if he can keep that promise. “I’m going to brief Sehun and Minseok, and then they’re going to escort you home so you can get everything you need.”

They both stand up from the table and before they move into the living room, she catches Jongdae by the wrist. He looks into her eyes and then takes her hand in both of his, giving her the most reassuring touch he can muster.

That dread in the back of his throat feels like it’s going to choke him.

—

Jongdae gets woken up in the middle of the night by the sensation of someone standing next to his bed. When he opens his eyes his room is empty, but his brain is still a bit foggy. Surely someone had been there…? Sitting up and scooting his body so he can lean against his headboard, he runs a hand through his hair, presses the heel of his palm to his forehead. Even in sleep he’s paranoid, it seems. Snorting to himself, a glance at the clock shows it’s barely past three a.m., and he needs to get back to sleep soon so he’s not a total zombie at the office in four hours. 

He starts to shift to lie down again, but the sound of his doorknob turning has him glancing over. Zitao peeks into his room and Jongdae lies propped up on an elbow, his body turned towards the door as he arches a brow.

“Zitao?” he says softly. She has taken up residence in the spare room, and Minseok and Sehun are still camped out in the living room. It’s been four days since they’ve taken Zitao into their unofficial custody, and so far Jongdae hasn’t heard a peep from Kai. 

Zitao says nothing, but she takes his greeting as permission to enter the bedroom. She shuts the door behind her and she’s wearing only a t-shirt and panties, her long hair pulled up into a messy bun. Free of makeup and fashion, Zitao is still a stunning creature, and as she makes her way over to Jongdae’s bed he feels his cheeks start to heat up a bit. 

“Are you ok?” he asks. Damn it, you’re thirty-four years old, Jongdae. Get your body under control.

But then Zitao is climbing onto the bed, one of her pretty hands pressing on Jongdae’s chest to get him to lie back as she straddles his hips. Exhaling slowly, for a moment he doesn’t know where to put his hands — but then he settles them, cautiously, atop her thighs. Her skin is soft as silk under his calloused fingers. Her gaze is lidded and her lips are parted as she leans down into his space, warm, minty breath ghosting over his chin and jaw, sparking goosebumps to skitter over his skin. 

“Zitao…” he tries again. “What are you doing?” She’s been grieving for days over the loss of Yifan, and sulking with the knowledge that her own life is in danger. But she still doesn’t respond as her hands span across Jongdae’s bare chest, nails scraping lightly, and he clenches his jaw to try and resist making any sort of noise. Her body shifts and then all of her weight is pressing down onto his groin and ah, he didn’t know his body could still respond that quickly. 

When her lips come into contact with his jaw he feels heat spread through his body. She’s soft, warm and solid and it’s been far, far too long since he’s felt any sort of intimacy. He doesn’t want to succumb to this — surely she’s not in her right mind? Sleepwalking, maybe? And he doesn’t want to take advantage of her during this difficult time. His hands slide up from her thighs over her hips, on the outside of her shirt to prevent too much skin-on-skin contact, mostly to keep himself in check.

“Zitao, we shouldn’t…” he tries.

“Make me forget,” she breathes. There’s sugar on her words, dripping like molasses down onto him, poofing into nonexistence in the darkness of the night. Now her nails scrape over his chest, over his nipples and down over his rib cage and he understands the need for comfort, the need to be with someone so physically that it’s all consuming, mind numbing. 

Silently, he agrees, and his fingers catch on the hem of her shirt, helping her pull it up and off her body. She’s gorgeous, complexion pale, nipples hard and ribs shifting under her skin with the way she seems to slither atop his body. His hands map her flesh, calloused fingers and palms making her shiver and shudder and let out tiny gasps of satisfaction. Her hips shift and she starts grinding against him, the movement of her hips fluid, graceful. Their mouths connect and Jongdae feels the heat spread from his ears all the way down to his toes, his cock stirring, knees bending slightly to help Zitao’s body move atop his.

Undressing doesn’t take long. The slide of her skin on his as she pulls the covers off of him, the heat of her mouth on him, wet and slick and toe-curling — it has Jongdae’s brain short-circuiting and going blissfully blank for the first time in months. His fingers tangle in her hair, loosening it from her hair tie and watching as it falls around her like a black curtain. She swallows him down, moans like she’s hungry, and then she’s kissing up his torso, over his sternum and scraping her teeth over his collarbones. When she sinks down onto him he hugs her tight to his chest, arms strong around her as his hips piston upwards. Her noises are soft, delicate, almost kittenish as he strokes into her, his feet planted, knees bent as he makes her body jerk back and forth with the force of his movements. She puts her hands on his chest and he frees her from his embrace so she can sit up and ride him, her gaze locked on his as she works her hips in a way Jongdae has never felt before. Tipping his head back and closing his eyes he gets lost in the sensation, breathing heavily, moans falling from his lips, stars exploding behind his eyes.

His hands start to wander again, up over strong thighs, the muscles flexing with every movement. Up further, his palms slide over sharp hips, and his thumbs slide over the raised, scarred flesh on her stomach. 

Wait.

When his eyes open and he looks down, his heart palpitates and fear grips him so tightly he can’t move. It’s not Zitao sitting on his cock, riding him to completion — it’s Kai. Kai with his devilish smirk, features shrouded in the darkness of the night, hair unruly and bouncing with his movements. Jongdae’s traitorous cock gives a throb and he moans involuntarily, his hands flying to grip at Kai’s hips — to push him off or keep him on his dick, Jongdae isn’t quite sure, but there Kai stays. His moans are deep, low, ragged, and Kai’s ass is exquisite, clamping down on Jongdae’s cock like it’s trying to suck the cum out of him. 

“N—...” Jongdae pants out, head tipping back again. “No…”

Kai’s breath is suddenly trailing over his jaw, hands tangling in Jongdae’s hair. “Yes… Yes, mmm, Jongdae… Your cock feels so good…”

Jongdae moans again, his eyes rolling back in his head. This is a pleasure he’s never felt before. Kai’s ass is an entirely different experience than the women that Jongdae has been with. His brain can’t even catch up with the fact that he had been having sex with Zitao, first. Kai’s mere presence is distorting. 

In a swift movement, Kai flips them over. Jongdae is suddenly between tan legs, Kai sprawled out under him and Jongdae’s eyes have no choice but to eat up what he’s seeing. A toned, slender body, dips and hard lines and scars smattered from collar bone to pubic bone, Kai’s cock hard and leaking. He still can’t see Kai’s face, almost like the shadows in the room are gathering on his features to keep them shrouded. Jongdae reaches up to tangle his fingers in Kai’s hair, marveling at the softness of it. Kai moans, head tipping back and Jongdae yanks on the locks, Kai whimpering as his hips jerk. Jongdae starts pumping into him at an even, slow pace, feeling each ring of muscle inside Kai’s body sucking him in. He goes balls deep and stays there, feeling his cock twitch as he buries his face into Kai’s neck, panting heavily. His hands slide down Kai’s legs to hook behind his knees and bend them up towards his chest, folding the man in half, and Jongdae pulls his torso back so he can watch his cock disappear repeatedly into the tightness of Kai’s hole. His balls slap against the flesh of Kai’s ass and Jongdae groans, biting his lip, the rush of ecstasy flowing through him astronomical. His brain is still a bit foggy, focused only on the pleasure, and with Kai writhing and whimpering beneath him, Jongdae knows he’s not going to last long. 

“Cum in me,” Kai breathes out, his hands sliding up Jongdae’s arms before settling atop the detective’s shoulders. “Fill me up with your cum, baby, make me leak for days.”

The words have Jongdae’s balls tensing, ready to release. It’s happening so quick. The mix of fear and arousal surging through him is almost too much to handle and he starts pounding into Kai viciously, the headboard of the bed slamming into the wall and Jongdae doesn’t care if he wakes up the whole apartment complex at this point. Kai feels so _good_ and he sounds so _good_ and he _looks so damn good_ spread under Jongdae like a pinned butterfly. 

When release grips Jongdae he moans out Kai’s name, hips picking up pace before he buries himself to the hilt and stays there, filling Kai up with his load. He pumps his cock a few times, shuddering at the intense aftershocks of the most powerful orgasm he’s ever had, and feels Kai’s fingers carding through his hair almost affectionately. When the last of Jongdae’s release is squeezed from his cock he collapses…

Onto nothing.

Opening his eyes, it’s pitch black in his bedroom and he’s alone face-down on his bed. The sheets are tangled around his ankles and he’s still wearing his sleep pants, the clock blinking 03:07 at him innocently. 

Rolling over to the side of his bed, he pulls over his wastebasket just in time to puke into it.

He can still hear Kai’s moans in his head.

—

Jongdae has a hard time looking at Zitao over the next few days. She’s still quiet, depressed, and hasn’t given one indication that she might have sneaked into Jongdae’s room that night. A part of Jongdae wishes she would act different. Wishes she would catch his eye, wishes she would give a glimmer of recognition that they did something that night — but there’s none. And it worries Jongdae, really, that Kai has forged his way so deep into the recesses of his consciousness that he can manifest even in his sleep. Part of him wonders if Kai is even real at all — wonders if, maybe, Kai is just a figment of his imagination.

When Jongin returns to work from his little sabbatical, he seems to be in much better spirits. Well, as good as spirits can get when the office is working overtime searching for a serial killer. His eyes aren’t as sunken in, he’s clean shaven, and his tie isn’t wrinkled. He passes by Jongdae’s desk with a small smile, one Jongdae struggles to return, and after he disappears into his office Jongdae stands up, shutting down his computer.

“Where are you going?” Sehun asks, blinking curiously as Jongdae starts to pull on his coat. 

“Just need some fresh air,” Jongdae replies, sending Sehun what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

Sehun shrugs and returns to his work, and Jongdae is thankful for the man’s simplicity as he heads towards the elevator. It doesn’t take long to get outside and once he’s out there he glances around, mostly out of habit, eyes subconsciously looking for a mop of dark hair shrouding a manic smile. He sees nothing of the sort. Shoving his hands into his pockets he starts walking down the sidewalk, taking a bit longer of strides to get his quads to stretch out some. 

There are children walking to school with friends, moms chatting over coffee, friends exchanging music in the record store. Everything is so blissfully… peaceful. Jongdae thinks it must be nice to be ‘the general public’. News stories are always so easy to detach from when it doesn’t happen to you. The mentality that one is safe because it isn’t related to them, or hasn’t happened to anyone they know — it’s… so dangerously delightful. As a detective Jongdae has always had a slightly suspicious air about him. Friendly and outgoing as he is, there’s always a part of his brain working overtime to assess each and every situation he encounters. From the way the old lady smiles at him at the fish market, to how a man will bump into him on the subway and not even say sorry. It’s in his nature to think about these things, so much so that he has a hard time comprehending people who _don’t_ look into even the tiniest discrepancies. 

Sighing softly, he rotates his head this way and that, groaning in satisfaction when his neck pops. It’s a habit he can’t kick that Sehun has gotten on his case about multiple times; ‘You’re going to give yourself arthritis!’. Untrue, and even Sehun knows that, but the brat just likes to get on Jongdae’s back whenever he can, since Jongdae is usually on his.

“That was quite the firework show. Sounds like you need to go see a chiropractor.”

An arm loops through Jongdae’s and he stiffens, that melodious voice floating over him like hot lava. 

“Hello, Kai.” he greets flatly without looking at the other.

Kai seems ecstatic with the greeting, hugging Jongdae’s arm close to his side. “Hello~! Did you miss me?”

“Not particularly,” Jongdae says. Kai’s touch is burning him. All he can think about is how Kai looked underneath him that night…

“I missed you,” Kai pouts. “I’ve been very busy.”

Jongdae arches a brow. “With what? You haven’t killed in two weeks.”

“I know!” Kai grins. When Jongdae glances over, he sees those giant sunglasses resting on his nose again. “Everything has to be _juuuust_ right. It’s almost done~”

“What’s almost done?” Jongdae asks. It feels like he’s getting heartburn.

“The gathering!” Kai rattles off like an excited kindergartner. “Just four left and then the tree will be alive again.”

“Four kills?” Jongdae tries to pull his arm free from Kai’s grip. It doesn't work. 

“Four _sacrifices_ ,” Kai unhelpfully corrects. His pace slows and because they're attached, Jongdae stops with him in front of a bakery. “Do you think they have cheese danishes?” Kai suddenly asks, peering into the display case. 

Jongdae rolls his eyes. “Go in and ask.” This time when he tugs his arm away it works, and he blinks. Kai is gone. Looking around, Jongdae sees no trace of him — and then suddenly Kai is hugging him from behind, holding up a cheese danish to Jongdae’s mouth. 

“They have them!”

“Jesus—” Jongdae can't keep up with Kai at all. He pulls away, not a fan of sweets. As the taller munches away on his danish Jongdae wriggles free, starting to walk again. “Great, now why don't you go get some coffee to go with that? Somewhere else. Away from me.”

“I don't like coffee,” Kai pouts, repeating words he's said to Jongdae before. Jongdae just rolls his eyes. “I must say...” Kai is still keeping pace with the detective, “I appreciate all the work you've been doing~” 

Jongdae resists the urge to grumble under his breath. “What work is that?”

“Being on my side, of course~”

Jongdae stops walking, and Kai bumps into him. He turns around to make eye contact, as best he can with those giant sunglasses, glaring so hard he'll be surprised if Kai doesn't catch fire within thirty seconds. “Excuse you?”

Kai merely grins down at him. “You heard me. You haven't cuffed me, caught me, beaten me. You've had so many opportunities.”

Acid bubbles in Jongdae’s throat, fists clenching at his sides. Kai is completely right. In all the times they've been together, thoughts of justice have crossed Jongdae’s mind, but he hasn't acted on any of them. Why? 

Why? 

“Why, indeed,” Kai whispers, and then he hands Jongdae his half-eaten danish. “You've been helping me since the very beginning. When the storm comes, people find shelter.”

Jongdae blinks, and Kai is gone. He's left holding the danish and he stares down at it in his hand, people walking around him like a person didn't just _disappear_ into mid-air. His fingers tremble, and he throws the danish into a garbage can before stalking back into the direction of the office. 

He's going to get to the fucking bottom of this. 

—

The rise in Kai’s activity in relation to Jongin’s return to the office is something that Jongdae tries to ignore. Surely it’s coincidence, right? Kai knowing that they’re suspicious of Jongin and just toying with them, making them think that they have a reason to be wary of the chief. At least, that’s what Jongdae is doing his best to think, to — dare he — hope. But since Jongin has come back, Kai is constantly a shadow over Jongdae’s shoulder, taunting him, spooking him.

Zitao rarely leaves the apartment and when she does, she always has company of Jongdae, Sehun, or Minseok. She never seems too thrilled, independent as she is, but they all know she’s secretly grateful for the effort they’re putting in to protecting her. She cooks dinner, she cleans up their messes when they pass out after poring over documents for hours, and Jongdae is still doing whatever he can to make sure he doesn’t think about… _that night_ , for her sake. He can’t imagine how she’d feel if she knew one of her saviors had a wet dream about her. And it wasn’t even that, really, since dream-Zitao morphed into dream-Kai…

“You ok?”

Minseok’s question brings Jongdae out of his thoughts. They’re both on the couch, Sehun having taken Zitao out to the grocery store so she can make them her favorite dish. Minseok and Jongdae had stayed behind — Minseok has his laptop on his stomach, his body spread out on the couch, fingers poised above the keyboard as he peers at Jongdae over the screen. From the opposite corner of the cushions Jongdae rubs a hand over his face, sighing softly. 

“Are any of us ok?” he asks rhetorically.

Minseok shifts, setting his laptop down on top of a few messy folders on the coffee table. He sits up with his legs criss-crossed, elbows on his knees and chin resting on top of his laced fingers, giving Jongdae the visual go-ahead to speak his mind.

For a solid minute, Jongdae doesn’t reply. He still hasn’t told Sehun or Minseok that Kai communicates with him exclusively. He hasn’t told them that he’s had so many opportunities to bag the psycho; that, every time Kai slips out of his fingers, deep down, he knows that Kai doesn’t ‘manage to get away’... Jongdae lets him go, every time. 

“C’mon man,” Minseok softly encourages. 

“I've been communicating with Kai,” Jongdae finally says. His throat feels tight. A weight lifts off his shoulders as soon as the words leave his lips, and while he feels relief, there's also trepidation squiggling around at the base of his neck. 

“You… what?” Minseok’s brows scrunch and he tilts his head, like he hadn't heard Jongdae correctly. 

“Kai talks to me. He— he finds me when I'm alone.”

“Shit, man,” Minseok looks tense, and then runs fingers through his hair after a moment of silence. “Ok— ok. So you haven't told us because…”

“Because he's not in custody.” Jongdae gives a helpless shrug of his shoulders. “Because people are dead and Zitao is in danger… because I'm a fucking sorry excuse for a cop.” he loses his wind quickly, slouching back into the couch and covering his face. He's awful. The scum of the Earth, right? He lets his hands drop to his lap and stares listlessly at the coffee table, still acutely aware of Minseok’s gaze burning into him. 

“Does Jongin know?” Minseok finally asks. 

Jongdae nods his head. 

Minseok sighs and then suddenly Jongdae feels a warm, reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Hey man, it's ok. I understand why you wouldn't tell us. For our safety, right?” Jongdae nods again, still not meeting Minseok’s gaze. “And Jongin knows, and that's the most important thing.”

Jongdae finally looks over at Minseok, who is leaning into his space. “You're not mad?”

Minseok shakes his head and sits back when their noses almost bump. He doesn’t look embarrassed, but Jongdae sees a flash of Kai in the back of his mind’s eye, gets that ghost sensation on his lips. “It's a delicate situation, Dae.”

Minseok leaves it at that and Jongdae is profoundly relieved. He shakes thoughts of Kai away. The tension in his body floats away and he smiles a bit ruefully at his fear of his best friends, his colleagues, misunderstanding him. He'll tell Sehun, too, and knows that he might pull the ‘butthurt’ card that Jongdae didn't confide in him, but he also will be understanding. 

Jongdae just hopes he's not making a mistake in telling them. In reality he knows everyone’s safety is compromised… But he also is definitely sure that he’s going to do his best to protect them.

—

When Jongdae discovers Zitao’s lifeless, cold body on the floor of his bathroom, he blacks out. One moment he’s pressing his fingers to her neck to try and find a pulse, and in the next moment he’s sitting on the back of an ambulance truck with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, EMT’s and first responders processing the scene. He stares, dazedly, not quite comprehending the situation. Zitao… In death, like Kyungsoon, she was still beautiful. And in death, like Kyungsoon, she was another piece of the puzzle. Jongdae knows that Kai got to her somehow, even though there weren’t any visible signs of assault. An empty prescription pill bottle was found in her travel bag but Jongdae knows, he _knows_ she would never kill herself. She had been so strong, for all of them — for Yifan, too. Fearless, brave… 

She’s gone.

A slap to Jongdae’s face brings him back to reality, Jongin’s features coming into focus, soul crushing reality weighing heavily in the pit of Jongdae’s gut.

“You wanna tell me why there’s a dead girl on your bathroom floor?” the Chief asks, and his voice is rough around the edges in a way that is slightly alarming to Jongdae.

“I—” 

“You were housing a potential victim and you couldn’t tell me?” Jongin barrels on. “Minseok and Sehun have been camping out— Christ, Jongdae, what are you thinking?”

Jongdae’s lips are dry, his throat parched. “We were—”

“Stop.” Jongin holds up a hand to physically halt Jongdae’s words. He pinches the bridge of his nose, runs a hand through his dark hair, and looks like a fresh cadet all over again.

Why is Jongdae’s heart squeezing like this?

“You brought people onto the case that I didn’t assign,” Jongin starts, lifting up a finger. “You housed a potential victim — a _victim_ — without my knowledge, when she should have been in protective custody.” Another finger lifts. “Another person is dead.” A final, third finger, and Jongin looks the most angry Jongdae has ever seen him. His brows are furrowed, his jaw tensed, gaze narrow as he looks at Jongdae. It’s obvious he’s holding back from really yelling, from really scolding and reprimanding Jongdae at this moment, and Jongdae feels like utter garbage.

Drawing the blanket tighter around himself, Jongdae isn’t trying for a pity party but he knows he looks pathetic. Jongin lets out a defeated sigh after a few tense seconds, then moves to sit next to Jongdae on the bumper. Their thighs are touching and Jongdae feels that strange burning sensation, the one he associates with Kai’s touch, weaving through the barriers of clothes and blanket between them. He subtly tries to shift away, but it’s fairly cold out and Jongin only instinctively follows his body heat.

“Ok.” Jongin finally says, after five minutes of silence and flashing lights. “Ok. What can you tell me?” 

“I don’t know,” Jongdae admits. His voice is hoarse. He needs water.

“Ok…” Jongin rubs his palms over his knees. “The manner of death has been ruled as a suicide.”

“That’s wrong,” Jongdae replies with less fire than he’d hoped.

“I know. We all know,” Jongin starts drumming his fingers idly. “But things have shifted. Yifan died from burns in his esophagus, which we all know is next to impossible. And now Zitao has overdosed… on birth control.”

Jongdae’s brow furrows. “Birth control?”

“That’s what her prescription was for. The only prescription drug she’s ever taken. And you don’t have any in the house, either.” Jongin’s voice has a slightly proud tone to it, when he says Jongdae is clean. 

“You can’t die from birth control,” Jongdae says. “How can the coroner even accept that?”

“They’re going to do more tox screens,” the Chief shrugs. “But for now, that’s the only preliminary cause of death we can decipher.”

And it’s absolutely nothing to go on.

“Chief!” 

One of the detectives comes jogging up towards the back of the ambulance, looking slightly out of breath. He holds something out, an item in a baggy, and Jongin takes it from him.

“We found it in her purse, sir.”

“Thank you,” Jongin says, dismissing the detective. Once they’re alone again, Jongin brings the bag up so Jongdae can see the item as well.

“A watch?” Jongdae squints. “Zitao didn’t wear a watch.” His gaze starts to unfocus slightly.

Jongin flips the bag over, reading an engraving on the back. He lets out a slow sigh, and then hands the bag over to Jongdae, standing while he speaks. “This watch was meant for you.”

Jongin starts to walk away, shoulders slumped, looking defeated. Jongdae shifts so the light can hit the back of the watch and he feels dread fill his chest at the four words scratched messily into the metal, his lungs suddenly starting to feel like they can’t function properly.

_”Time is almost up.”_

—

“Leave? Are you _nuts_?” Sehun looks like he’s torn between yelling and crying, standing in the middle of Jongdae’s apartment, the clutter from case files and take-out cartons making him look like a petulant college student more than a renowned detective.

“It’s not safe,” Jongdae says. He knows that this is the safest place Sehun and Minseok can be, but he also knows that he’s pushing Jongin’s buttons by including them in his work. “Zitao’s dead,” his voice cracks, “and we’re all on Kai’s hit list.”

“I don’t care,” Sehun crosses his arms, glaring at where Jongdae is standing at the entrance of the kitchen. “I’m not leaving. I’m not abandoning this case— do you expect us to just leave and carry on with other shit like Kai doesn’t exist? Like we didn’t invest so much into all this stupid shit? I don’t know about you but I can’t handle another domestic dispute, I can’t answer another call about a runaway teenager. Not when I know Kai is out there. Not when I know Kai is _right fucking here_.”

Minseok is on the couch with the expression of a child witnessing their parent’s first real argument. He’s wrapped up in the fleece throw blanket, feet on the coffee table, eyes moving slowly between Jongdae and Sehun as they argue. 

“And you expect me to just allow you and Minseok to sit here with targets on your backs?” Jongdae asks, exasperated. “Zitao was killed in my fucking _bathroom_ while we slept. One of us is next.” He can feel tears in his eyes and fuck, when was the last time Jongdae _cried_? His cheeks flush, ears burn, and he holds his hands out in a pleading gesture, desperate for them to understand his own desperation. “One of _you_ is next.”

“How are you so sure?” Sehun is still adamant. “What if we’re _not_ next, Jongdae?”

“I can’t take that risk,” Jongdae snaps, slamming his fist against the door frame. The wall rattles and Sehun flinches, the room falling quiet.

Minseok’s voice is soft when he speaks. “You can’t carry the burden of this alone, Jongdae. It’s too big.” Jongdae’s attention fixates on the other. “You can’t feel responsible for our lives, or the lives of anyone else. It’s Kai killing people, not you. We know what we’re doing— we know that we have bullseyes on our asses. You do, too. We won’t leave you. Even if you don’t let us help you with the case, we’re not going anywhere, Jongdae…” he stands up, still wrapped in the blanket as he gives Jongdae a soft, imploring look. “Let us stay.”

Jongdae’s eyes still feel hot and wet, and his chest tightens when Minseok takes a step forward. “It’s dangerous…”

“It’s been dangerous,” Minseok replies, voice still soft. He’s approaching Jongdae like he’s a frightened deer, ready to spook. “Don’t push us away.”

A tear spills down Jongdae’s cheek, his shoulders spasming and lower lip trembling. “I’m sorry.”

He’s not expecting the hug that Minseok envelops him in. Minseok’s arms bring the blanket and he cocoons Jongdae up inside of it with him, and they’re basically the same size so it’s not like Jongdae can just fold into him. His face ends up pressed into Minseok’s neck and his arms are limp at his side because he doesn’t have the strength to lift them and return the embrace, but… it feels nice. Minseok is solid, Minseok is real and he’s not a phantom that’s going to just poof away the instant Jongdae gets his wits about him. They stand like that for a few moments and soon Jongdae hears Sehun let out an impatient sigh, before he feels Sehun’s spindly arms wrapping around the both of them.

“Group hug,” Sehun mumbles. “What are we, ten?”

“It’s a morale booster,” Minseok replies easily, voice still soft. “We’re all in this together.”

When Jongdae’s eyes close he sees flashes of Kai’s shadowy figure on the edges of his mind. 

His acceptance of Minseok and Sehun staying just signed their death certificate.

—

“You have really nice friends,” Kai says one day, seemingly just… appearing next to Jongdae as he heads towards a food cart by the river.

“You think so?” Jongdae asks, barely any emotion to his voice. He’s on lunch break at work and needed to clear his head, and Jongin allowed him to head down to the river to get a bite to eat and recover a bit of his sanity. If only Jongin knew that there’s barely any sanity to recover at all. After all, he’s here talking to the world’s most popular serial killer.   
“Yeah,” there's a shrug in Kai’s voice. Jongdae won't look at him. “I had friends like them, once. A long time ago.” His voice gets a little dreamy, “Soon I'll have them back~” 

“What does killing people have to do with your tree?” Jongdae finally asks, suddenly uncaring about being conservative around Kai. “Why are you leaving symbols? What's going to happen after you've met your quota?”

Kai’s fingers wrap around Jongdae’s wrist, halting him from walking any further. Jongdae finally turns to look at the other and is surprised to see long, blond, slicked back hair and smaller sunglasses than normal. Kai’s smile is roguish, handsome by normal standards, his skin tan and body dressed with jeans and a hoodie. He looks like an idol incognito. 

His touch doesn't burn. 

“I've been waiting for you to ask,” Kai says breathlessly. 

Jongdae frowns. “But I have—”

Kai pulls Jongdae closer, and the detective gets a whiff of aftershave. He tenses, but he doesn't feel the usual urge to flee or puke like he normally does when he comes into physical contact with Kai… and he relaxes, slightly. 

“Tell me,” Jongdae says, looking at his reflection in Kai’s sunglasses. 

“First, let's get some food~” Kai says with a grin, tugging on Jongdae’s wrist again, this time to start heading in the direction of the food cart once more. 

Jongdae doesn’t really have a choice but to follow Kai’s nose to the fried food stand. Kai excitedly orders two corndogs and even pays the vendor, asking Jongdae asinine questions like ‘Do you want ketchup?’ or ‘How many napkins do you want?’. Jongdae is impatient. His stomach is steeled and his emotions are hardened but Kai doesn’t affect him like he used to. Jongdae isn’t sure if that’s a good or bad thing, yet. They make their way to a bench overlooking the river and sit down, Kai happily munching into his corndog. Jongdae thinks about their encounter at the convenience store; how the employee had said that Jongdae had been alone the whole time. He thinks about how Kai just slips around in the shadows and no one seems to notice him whenever he’s present. But here Kai just had a conversation with a person that wasn’t Jongdae, and that person _saw_ Kai, joked with Kai, smiled at Kai.

It seems so… normal.

“The Tree of Life,” Kai starts without prompting, “is everything. It is the reason that you and I exist — the reason this planet, and all the other planets in the universe exist.”

“Pretty sure the Big Bang did all that,” Jongdae grumbles, taking a bite of his corndog.

Kai laughs a little. “No one can be sure, right? Science can only uncover so much. This planet is still such a small, insignificant speck in the entirety of the cosmos. Do you really think that today’s scientists can grasp when and how it was created?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Jongdae asks, glancing over at Kai.

“Why shouldn’t you believe that there is a Tree of Life?” Kai retorts, sending Jongdae a wry smile. There’s mustard on the corner of his full, bottom lip. 

“Alright, alright,” Jongdae waves his free hand. “I get your point. So. This Tree of Life. What happened to it?”

“It split,” Kai sighs, sounding dejected. “Right down the middle.” He takes another bite of his corndog and then leans back against the bench, crossing his legs. “Do you like tales?”

“I’ve heard my share,” Jongdae replies dryly, staring out at the river. 

“I’ll summarize,” Kai grins. “In the beginning, the universe was unified by the Tree. All was Good. The Twelve Forces kept the Tree alive — nurtured it, cared for it, protected it. One day, a great, red eye created an evil that stole the heart of the Tree… and slowly, the Tree grew dry. The Twelve Forces decided that the only way to save the Tree was to split it in half and send it to the outermost reaches of space and time to ensure its safety. Each Force took a piece of the Tree’s heart into their protection. Six and six, the Twelve Forces split the universe in two, just as the red eye did to the tree. The legends shall now see the same sky, but stand on different grounds — stand on the same grounds, but see different skies. The day the red eye is purified, and the day that the Twelve Forces take new root, a new world shall open up.”

In Kai’s speech, Jongdae’s corndog lowers more, and more still, until the outside of his curled palm rests on top of his thigh. He’s staring at Kai — he’s examining his profile, the strength of his jaw, the curve of his adam’s apple, the slope of his nose. The sun is setting and it’s probably really cliche and really wrong of Jongdae to think that, in this rare moment of sanity Kai is showing, the man is… beautiful. Jongdae starts absorbing Kai’s words, though, and then lets out a little sigh as he wipes his lips with his napkin.

“Ok. So some aliens had a tree, the tree died or whatever, and now you’re trying to find the pieces of the tree so that it can come back to life?” Jongdae has better deduction skills than this, but it’s all he can emotionally afford right now.

“Something like that,” Kai’s head turns towards Jongdae and he offers a lopsided smile. “I just want us all to be home, again.”

“What you’re talking about sounds awfully apocalyptic,” Jongdae snorts, taking another bite of his food. 

Kai shrugs, finishing off his corndog. “It is. A new era will rise up once the Tree is restored.”

“So the Twelve Forces…” Jongdae’s eyes watch the sun glint off of the water. He mentally counts the victims in his head, and then feels realization starting to blossom. “Are you saying the victims are the reincarnated Twelve Forces? Why would you kill them?”

“ _Sacrifice_ ,” Kai corrects Jongdae on the term for a second time. “I am freeing them of their human shells so that we can regain our power and restore the Tree.”

“Power?” Jongdae starts chewing on his corndog, leaning back against the bench as well. “What power? Were all those symbols part of some alien language? Are you an alien?” he suddenly asks, gaze examining Kai’s features.

Kai laughs. That weird twisting feeling in Jongdae’s gut returns. 

He blinks, and Kai is gone.

Alone on the bench, Jongdae stares at the spot that Kai had been previously occupying. Aliens? Cosmic power? Reincarnation? He already knew Kai was a whackjob but this whole story…

“Fuck—” Jongdae slams his fist down on the bench, angry at himself. He’d listened! He let Kai fill his head with all this bullshit and now Jongdae isn’t sure which way is up at this point. The story makes it sound like Kai himself is a victim — the _story_ is just plain ludicrous. Groaning, Jongdae stands up, tossing his garbage into the wastebin by the bench. He paces for a few moments, hands stuffed into his pockets, the chilly air kissing his cheeks like an old friend. 

Jongdae doesn’t know what he had been expecting when Kai agreed to give him some answers. He surely wasn’t expecting some be-all-end-all of the fucking universe. He wasn’t expecting Kai to tell him that his victims are meant to be reincarnates of legendary aliens past, and he definitely wasn’t expecting Kai to sound so… _sane_ , when he talked about it.

Checking his watch, Jongdae huffs softly when he realizes he’s been gone for an hour. He turns on heel and starts heading back to the station, his head spinning with all the information. 

What the fuck is he supposed to believe anymore?

—

“You want me to research… aliens,” Minseok repeats monotonously, eyes unamused as he looks at Jongdae.

“Yes,” Jongdae says, sounding resolute.

Sehun groans from where he’s curled up on the recliner, “Jesus, Jongdae, are you really listening to that guy? He’s a fucking psycho. Talking about aliens and rebirth or whatever…”

“It’s something to go on,” Jongdae says. “There might be some newspaper articles, blogs, _something_ talking about what he told me. Maybe he’s part of a cult? Or some sort of fanatic?”

“What I want to know,” Minseok says as he picks his laptop up off of the table and puts it on his lap, “is how he appears and disappears without anyone noticing.”

“He’s a creep,” Sehun says, brow furrowed as he snuggles into the blanket wrapped around him. “Guys like that go everywhere unnoticed, until they’re too creepy to _not_ be noticed.”

Jongdae rolls his eyes. “Helpful, Sehun.”

“He mentioned powers, right?” Minseok asks, typing away. “The Twelve Forces had powers? What if all the symbols left with the victims were symbols of their powers, and he left them there so that when they reincarnated their power would be intact?”

“You guys are both nuts.” Sehun sounds agitated. “We’re _police detectives_ , not paranormal investigators.”

“No, Minseok is right,” Jongdae says, sitting down next to the man on the couch and watching articles fly across the screen of the laptop. “This shit isn’t real, man, no aliens are wandering the universe looking for a tree and no aliens are being reincarnated on Earth.” His gut twists, and he lets out a surprised breath at the sensation. Minseok exhales at the same time and Sehun squirms, and they all fall quiet.

“Did you feel that?” Minseok asks, putting a hand on his stomach. 

Sehun shifts. “Probably gas. We’ve been eating too much take-out.”

They take Sehun’s suggestion lightly, but commit to it, unwilling to blame it on anything else. 

“In any case, we need to look into it. Let’s start by finding out what each of the symbols mean,” Jongdae says, grabbing the file that has a digital drawing of each symbol. Less gore, more specific. 

“Joonmyun’s symbol is obviously water,” Minseok says, glancing over at the paper in Jongdae’s hand. “You need water to nourish a plant.”

“Baekhyun looked like a light,” Sehun joins in. “Photosynthesis.”

“Yixing was a unicorn, which I can only imagine relates to mystical healing powers?” Jongdae ventures, using a sharpie to write on each photo as they discuss. “Chanyeol was a bird…?”

“Phoenix,” Sehun says, sounding very assured. “Rebirth. Reincarnation.”

Minseok lets out a breath as Jongdae writes it down. “Kyungsoo’s symbol is a little weird. It kind of looks like a transformer.”

“Or one of those things from Easter Island,” Jongdae suggests, turning the photo this way and that to look at it. “It could represent Earth itself. The Easter Island megaliths are one of the most mysterious structures created by man and are a good representation of early human history.”

“Good, good,” Minseok mutters, still typing away. 

Sehun is starting to look more interested as well. “A message was left on a watch that Zitao didn’t even own. Her symbol was time?”

Jongdae nods, writing it down. “Kai mentioned something about a space-time continuum, alternate dimensions and stuff.” Next is Yifan’s photo. “A dragon. This one is obvious.”

“The protector,” Minseok suggests, shrugging. “The fierce beast to ward off enemies.”

Jongdae’s fingers are starting to cramp, his handwriting all sorts of sloppy with how quickly he’s writing. Luhan’s photo is probably the most perplexing, and Jongdae holds it up so everyone can see it.

“Molecule?” Sehun guesses.

Minseok wrinkles his nose. “Atoms…?”

Jongdae chews his lip. “No… maybe? Something like that. This is the one symbol that literally doesn’t look like fucking anything.” He turns it upside down, sideways, even traces his fingers along the lines. They all fall into quiet contemplation, and then suddenly Sehun pipes up.

“A brain.”

Minseok and Jongdae both direct their attention to Sehun, who is now sitting up in the recliner, the blanket falling off his shoulders.

“It’s a brain with six threads,” Sehun insists. “Kai said that the Twelve Forces were split in half, right? So one brain, on one half, is connected to all six brains.”

“Six hearts?” Minseok adds on.

Jongdae looks at the photo again. “It does sort of look like a mind map. Like what writers use when they’re fleshing out stories.”

“Idea bubbles,” Sehun says, nodding.

“Ok,” Jongdae writes ‘brain - hearts’ down on the photo, and then sighs softly. “If he’s really talking about twelve victims, there’s still four more slots left.” He closes the file, tossing it onto the coffee table and then flopping back against the couch. “Why do I feel like we just did a bunch of work and hit another dead end?”

“Because we did,” Sehun pouts, re-wrapping himself up in the blanket and sinking back into the recliner as well. “Maybe Kai really is an alien, and that’s why we can’t find anything on him.”

Jongdae snorts, and Minseok stays quiet, his fingers the loudest noise in the room for a few moments. Soon enough Minseok puts his laptop down on the coffee table, pointing at the screen.

“I don’t know about aliens, and I definitely don’t know about powers or legends or whatever,” he says. “But I think I just found Kai… in a photo from a hundred years ago.”

“What?” 

Jongdae and Sehun both chorus, scrambling off of the furniture to kneel on the floor so they can get a good look at the photo Minseok has blown up on the screen. It’s grainy and has been digitally remastered, and looks like it came from the old West, and Jongdae squints, trying to find Kai in the photo. 

“There,” Sehun points at the photo, which comprises of about a dozen men in construction attire in front of a great steel structure. A man looking suspiciously like Kai is in the back row, stony-faced and hardened, dark hair unruly under a floppy hat and Jongdae blinks.

“That’s him.” His voice is tinged in disbelief. He’s never seen Kai without a pair of sunglasses or a mask, at least not in person, and he’s… stunned at what he sees. “That’s fucking him. Or his great great grandfather.” He shifts so he can sit on his butt, relieving the pressure on his ankles. “What is this photo from?”

“The great Nikola Tesla’s construction of the Wardenclyffe Tower,” Minseok says. 

“America?” Sehun wonders out loud. “What’s Kai’s ancestor doing in America?”

“Helping build the world’s first SMS system,” Minseok says. “Tesla’s research was groundbreaking. If he hadn’t been defunded sending international messages via a wireless connection would have been a reality for grandma and grandpa.”

“Tesla was a little crazy though, wasn’t he?” Sehun asks, glancing up at Minseok. “No one believed what he could do.”

“No one knew where he drew his inspiration from,” Minseok says, shrugging. “One day he got this idea in his head and wouldn’t stop until he completed it.”

“Ok, but— what about Kai?” Jongdae asks, still staring at the photo. “Or grandpa Kai? How did you even find this picture, Minseok?”

Minseok doesn’t answer for a moment, which makes Sehun and Jongdae look up at him suspiciously. Minseok looks a little sheepish, and then replies, “I did some digging on Jongin’s background.”

“Jongin?” Sehun and Jongdae echo, clearly in disbelief.

“Look, we can’t — we aren’t ignoring the fact that when Kai’s activity spikes, so does Jongin’s, in one way or another. And look at this photo — you can’t tell me that this man isn’t a spitting image of Jongin.”

“Oh great,” Sehun rolls his eyes, standing up. “Back to suspecting Chief? I thought we were over this!”

“He hasn’t been cleared,” Jongdae says, taking sides with Minseok. “There’s no way to disconnect him, but there’s no real way to connect him, either.” he looks back at the laptop. “So— is this Jongin’s grandpa?”

“I couldn’t find a birth or death certificate of him, but his name on the construction roster was Kim Jongin.” Minseok says, pulling up that photo on the laptop.

“That’s no coincidence,” Jongdae whistles.

Sehun starts walking towards the kitchen. “You guys are fucking nuts. _Nuts_. Chief? Kai? Jongdae, you’ve SEEN Kai. You would be able to tell if they were the same fucking person.”

“Didn’t you say that Kai was blond, yesterday?” Minseok asks Jongdae.

Jongdae nods. “Like, Lady Gaga blond. If he and Jongin were the same person there’s no way that Jongin would be able to cover that up so quickly. Plus, Kai’s hair is longer. Shaggier.”

Sehun disappears into the kitchen, leaving Minseok and Jongdae in the living room to stare at the mysterious photo. Jongdae bites his thumb thoughtfully, brows furrowed. There’s no explanation glaring at him as to why suddenly Jongin and Kai look to be one in the same.

“Ok. So… Let’s say Jongin and Kai are related, in any way possible. Why would he be at the construction sight of Tesla’s tower?”

Minseok shrugs, “Tesla was on the brink of a breakthrough. And he had to get the idea for wireless transmission from somewhere. What if… What if someone gave him the idea?”

“Someone… alien?” Jongdae sighs, leaning back against the couch and stretching his legs out in front of him. “Next thing you know, we’re going to be turning on that weird History channel show and listening to that guy spout off about extra terrestrial beings.”

“I think nothing is farfetched at this point,” Minseok says, seriously.

“Ok, but Tesla’s project failed and he died without the accomplishment.” Jongdae drops his head back on the cushions and stares at the ceiling.

“But someone else accomplished it later,” Minseok says. He scoots to sit on the edge of the couch. “Tesla’s theory may have failed in his own time due to inconvenience and financial troubles, but someone carried on his work and succeeded. In the eighties people made their own breakthroughs and started to fine tune the science.”

“Someone carried the torch,” Jongdae says.

“How much you wanna bet if we look up workers on the SMS project from the eighties in Europe, we’ll see Jongin’s beautiful face?”

Jongdae covers his face, rubbing vigorously. “It’s not possible. Jongin is not Kai. There’s no fucking way. They’re _different_ , Minseok. Like night and day.”

They fall silent, and Jongdae gets caught up in his thoughts. When first shown the picture, he had identified the man as Kai. And then upon further looking, identified the man as Jongin. There’s no way it can be both. It’s one or the other. Jongin and Kai are two totally separate entities — right? Although, when Jongdae racks his brain, he has never recalled that their presence overlapped one another. But why should they? Kai has a twisted interest in Jongdae and Jongdae alone. 

But… so does Jongin, Jongdae’s buzzing brain quietly replies. Jongin’s feelings for Jongdae can’t be ignored forever. It’s one thing that Jongdae hasn’t shared with Minseok and Sehun, and one thing that he’ll probably take to the grave with him. He won’t embarrass his superior like that, no matter what the circumstances. 

No matter how suspicious he is.

When the doorbell rings, Jongdae looks up curiously. “Who ordered food?”

Minseok shakes his head. “I didn’t.”

Sehun peeks out from the kitchen. “I’m making a sandwich…”

Jongdae rolls his eyes. “Ok, it’s probably not food. Are we being noisy again? I can’t deal with another neighbor complaint…” he mumbles, as he stands up and makes his way to the door.

When he looks through the peephole, he doesn’t see anyone standing in the hallway. He angles his head a little, turns his eyeball this way and that, and still sees nothing. Stepping back, he frowns. Ding dong ditch?

“Well, whoever it was isn’t—”

A knock on the door interrupts what Jongdae was about to say. Turning around and staring at the door curiously, Jongdae tilts his head to listen for any foot steps or indication that someone is on the other side. Fear bubbles in the pit of his stomach and he tries to ignore it, despite the ominous feeling he’s getting.

The lights in the apartment flicker, and Jongdae clenches his jaw. 

“This isn’t funny,” he says, moving forward and unlocking the door, swinging it open, his stomach plummeting.

Kai is on the other side.

His smile is the last thing Jongdae sees before everything goes black.

—

When Jongdae comes to he's alone, and definitely not in his own home. He's in a chair and he adjusts, a flex of his wrists letting him know that he's not tied down at all; his eyes survey the area he's in and he determines that he's in the middle of a basement, with no windows and one door. A noise to his left catches his attention — a rat skitters off into a decrepit hole in the wall and he grimaces a little, suppressing a shudder. 

“Good atmosphere, right?”

Kai’s voice comes from behind Jongdae’s chair and he tenses slightly in surprise, immediately standing up and turning around to glare at the other. It's dark with only one light in the room but Kai is still wearing shades, his full lips pulled up into a satisfied smirk. 

“Boo.”

“Cut the shit, Kai.” Jongdae glares. “Where are Sehun and Minseok?”

“In their own beds,” Kai drawls, fingers on the back of the chair sliding over the wood as he slowly walks around it. He’s wearing ripped skinny jeans and a band tee, his combat boots barely making a noise on the grimy floor. “In the safety of their own homes.”

Jongdae’s jaw tenses. “Unharmed?”

“For now,” Kai smirks, and once he rounds the chair he grabs Jongdae’s hands, tugging him close so quickly Jongdae loses his breath. He pushes him back down onto the unforgiving hard wood of the chair — Jongdae tries to stand immediately but Kai slides onto his lap and while the man feels like he weighs nothing, Jongdae is pinned. “Keep struggling,” he whispers into the detective’s ear. “I like how desperation looks on you.”

Jongdae snarls and tries to buck Kai off of him, to no avail. Kai just laughs and makes himself comfortable, palms skating over Jongdae’s shoulders, his voice velvety smooth. 

“You and your friends are awfully close to the truth,” Kai says, pursing his lips in a little pout as his fingers skim over Jongdae’s collarbones, the flesh exposed thanks to his worn t-shirt. “That Minseok… He's very smart. “

“What's your connection to Jongin?” Jongdae impatiently bites out. His hands are gripping the arms of the chair, white-knuckled and trembling with anger. This time he’s not going to let any questions slip away from him. This time he’s not going to let Kai walk all over him.

“What _isn’t_ my connection to Jongin?” Kai replies with a longing sigh, smile still on his features. 

Jongdae licks his lips, his heart hammering so hard against his ribs he can hear it in his ears. Kai has him hostage, has him pinned, and looks as crazy as ever. There's not a shred of lucidity in his expression or voice and this is the first time Jongdae has felt… fearful, in Kai’s presence. Fearful… or, exhilarated? 

“You see,” Kai starts without prompting, “After I came to Earth and discovered there was no way to reach my fellow fallen comrades, due to the dreadfully ancient technology, I had to find someone to make it possible. Nikola was the perfect little seed. His social habits left something to be desired, though, and soon he went bankrupt and had to forfeit the tower I inspired him to construct. I had lost my ray of hope.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about,” Jongdae growls, looking up at Kai. 

“My journey!” Kai pouts. “Don't interrupt.”

“You're telling me you _came to Earth_?” Jongdae lets out an incredulous laugh. “You really are psycho.”

“I'm hurt,” Kai is still pouting as he puts a hand over his heart. “You wanted to know all about me and instead of asking, you snooped.”

“Because you never give me any straight— ugh!” Jongdae huffs and tips his head back, closing his eyes and praying for patience. After three seconds, he levels Kai with a glare. “You're under arrest.”

“Mmm,” Kai playfully taps Jongdae’s chest. “Are you gonna cuff me?”

“This isn't a fucking joke, Kai,” Jongdae spits. “You're a murderer and I'm a cop. You're under fucking arrest.”

“Hmmm… No I'm not~” Kai grins, settling down to get more comfy on Jongdae’s lap. “Let me finish my story.”

With Kai’s proximity Jongdae feels like he's going to catch on fire, but he looks stubbornly up at Kai, silently willing him to continue. Kai reads the green light and wiggles a little in excited satisfaction, before he starts speaking again.

“As I was _saying_ , I had no way to contact the other legends. Here we had gone hurtling through space and time for hundreds of thousands of years only to land on this dumb rock. But!” Kai gets gleeful, clapping his hands. “Mother Nature is so bountiful on Earth! It’s the perfect place to plant the Tree. The only issue is...well,” his smirk gets shrouded in shadows, “the humans.”

Jongdae’s whole body is tense and starting to ache from physically restraining himself from tackling Kai and beating him to a pulp. And this story is just… There’s just no way. 

“All of the other legends were killed in their crash landings, but with the heart of the tree they were able to find suitable hosts to be reincarnated into. It took a couple hundred years,” Kai says, looking over Jongdae’s shoulder thoughtfully with a soft nod. “But when my heart started beating again I knew that I was close. That they were close.”

“And that’s when you started killing,” Jongdae ties it together, his brows knitted and gut churning.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Kai rolls his eyes and lets out an exaggerated groan. “I _sacrificed_ them. My comrades had chosen vessels knowing that their demise would come swiftly. I broke them free of their Earthly vestiges and soon we will be able to plant the Tree and carry on our mission.”

“Let me go, Kai,” Jongdae says, as patiently as possible. He doesn’t sound very patient at all.

“Alright,” Kai replies simply, climbing off of Jongdae’s lap. “You need to go check on your friends, anyway.”

Jongdae feels the blood leave his face. With Kai off his lap he is suddenly free from paralysis and he jumps up, patting his hands over his own body to make sure Kai didn’t do anything weird while he was unconscious.

“You should hurry,” Kai says, as he starts to back into the shadows. “I think it’s supposed to snow, tonight.”

_Fwump._

Jongdae is suddenly struck with vertigo, his vision blackening and his feet feeling like they’re flying out from underneath him. His balance is off and he catches himself before he falls by reaching out and grabbing a … street lamp? As his vision clears he looks around to see that he’s somehow been transported to a neighborhood, one that he vaguely recognizes. After turning this way and that, his mind spinning with how the hell he got there in the first place, his phone starts ringing in his pocket. Jumping slightly in surprise, because he doesn’t remember having his phone in his pocket, he fishes around and pulls it out, answering after seeing Sehun’s name on the screen.

“Hello?” Jongdae’s breath clouds in the air.

“Jongdae?” Sehun sounds sleepy. Jongdae sags a little in relief. “Jongdae, I just had the weirdest dream. We’ve been camping out at your place so much that being at home feels weird…”

“Are you ok?” Jongdae asks, looking around the empty street. What time is it? He pulls his phone away to squint at the glowing screen. 

01:28AM

“Yeah— are you?” Sehun sounds slightly more awake. He must be able to hear the odd tone of Jongdae’s voice.

“I’m fine,” Jongdae feels a shiver starting at the base of his spine. He does his best to ignore it; it’s cold, but as soon as he starts shivering, it will be unbearable. “When did you go home?” 

“A few hours ago?” Sehun ventures, and then sounds a little confused. “You got ding-dong ditched and after like, the third time, you suggested we go home… remember?”

Jongdae frowns, shaking his head. “I don’t— I don’t remember. Why would I send you guys home?”

“I don’t know?” Sehun sounds more confused by the minute. “I did think it was weird but you were really insistent.”

Jongdae folds one arm across his chest, tucking his hand into his armpit to try and trap some warmth. “Oh. Well— can you go back to my place?”

“Go back… Jongdae, where are you?” Sehun has always been sharper than he lets on.

“I’m not sure,” Jongdae says. “I…” he thinks fast. “I must have sleep-walked? I think I’m in Minseok’s neighborhood.”

“You sleep-walked a thirty minute subway ride to Minseok’s apartment?” Sehun deadpans. “Go ring him, I can meet you there in ten minutes.”

“Right,” Jongdae mentally shakes himself a little. “Yeah— ok. See you soon.”

When he ends the call, Jongdae looks around the neighborhood again. It is Minseok’s. And he’s standing right in front of Minseok’s building. How did he get here? Why did Sehun say that Jongdae had told him and Minseok to go home, when Jongdae had been taken by Kai? Didn’t they see him?

… Didn’t that happen?

“Jongdae?” 

Glancing up, Jongdae sees Minseok standing out on his balcony. The clouds overhead are light and grey, and Jongdae idly wonders if they’ll get their first snow of the season tonight.

“Hey,” Jongdae calls out loud enough to be heard on the seventh floor where Minseok is. “Can I come up?”

“What are you doing here?” Minseok calls.

Jongdae can’t see his facial expression from this distance — but he imagines that Minseok has a look of disbelief on his features. Shrugging, Jongdae just shakes his head. He has no idea what he’s doing here.

“It’s gonna snow,” Jongdae calls, folding his arms tightly over his chest. “Buzz me…” 

His words die out, his eyes focusing on something above Minseok. 

“What?” Minseok calls, leaning over the balcony railing a bit, like he’s straining to hear Jongdae.

A great, dark shadow is looming behind Minseok, seemingly coming from the inside of his apartment. Snake-like tendrils of darkness come licking out of the sliding door, the windows, and it starts encroaching on where Minseok is, stark against the softness of the cloudy sky, a great black octopus closing in on its prey.

“Min…” Jongdae feels his heart start to slow. “Minseok…”

“Jongdae?” Minseok calls out again. He leans just a bit further.

“Minseok—!” Jongdae suddenly yells out. The shadows are blooming right behind Minseok, some sort of morbid, demonic venus fly trap. “Get out of there!”

Minseok turns sharply and the darkness seems to implode in an instant. It enshrouds Minseok entirely, consumes him fully and Jongdae lets out an agonized, terrified yell — and then the shake of a silent boom rocks the neighborhood and Minseok is being catapulted seven stories, limbs flailing, scream hoarse.

Jongdae is rooted to the spot when Minseok’s body comes crashing down onto the pavement. Breathless, Jongdae looks up to the balcony to see the shadows retreating between the buildings, sneaking away undetected. A gurgling groan brings his attention down and he sprints forward towards Minseok, collapsing to his knees next to the man and immediately gathering him up in his arms. 

Minseok is limp. 

There’s so much blood... splattered on the road, covering Minseok’s pajamas — a quick glance shows that both legs and an arm is broken and Jongdae can’t imagine what sort of damage has been wreaked upon his insides. Hot tears start spilling down Jongdae’s face mercilessly and Minseok is just barely there, his eyes staring up, unfocused, at the sky.

“Jong…” Minseok wheezes.

“Shhh,” Jongdae shakes his head and keeps Minseok close to him. He knows that he shouldn’t move Minseok if he has any hope that the paramedics will come and save him, but… He knows that no help will arrive. Shaking, Jongdae cradles Minseok to his chest, broken sobs interrupting the slew of apologies falling from his lips. “I should have known— I’m so sorry Minseok, I’m so fucking sorry, please stay with me…”

“Dae…” Minseok can’t move, but his eyes finally rest on Jongdae’s features. “I can’t…”

“Save your strength,” Jongdae whispers, cupping Minseok’s jaw tenderly with his palm. He feels the bone shift sickeningly under his touch. 

There are no tears wetting Minseok’s eyes. Where there’s no blood on his skin his complexion is still fair and smooth as ever, and his lashes flutter slightly as he looks up at Jongdae. Jongdae meets his gaze and feels himself breaking, feels as though it were him that fell to his death. Minseok trusted him. Minseok had faith in him. Minseok was so loyal, so amazing, and _such_ a good friend. And here he lie, dying in Jongdae’s arms, choking on blood every few breaths and fading in and out of consciousness.

Bowing his head, Jongdae sobs, tears landing on Minseok’s blood-stained shirt. He feels something running through his hair and when he lifts his gaze he realizes Minseok is using his good hand to pet his head affectionately, a weak ghost of the playful noogies Minseok used to give him in the past. There’s the smallest of smiles on Minseok’s chapped, bloodied lips, and Jongdae grabs his hand as gingerly as possible, pressing his lips to bruised knuckles as he holds eye contact with his friend, his comrade.

“Jongdae…” Minseok whispers out, his gaze turning up towards the grey sky. “It’s… snowing…”

Minseok’s eyes slowly close, a single snowflake falling onto his long lashes. 

When the sirens come, Jongdae can’t stop screaming.

—

Jongdae doesn’t see Kai in the following weeks. Jongdae doesn’t see much of anyone, save for Sehun, who basically moved in after Minseok died. Neither of them do much. The case files on the coffee table lay untouched, Minseok’s computers stay in sleep mode, and they don’t even go into the office to clock in for hours. 

Sehun has started sleeping in Jongdae’s bed with him. An unspoken agreement — they both feel safe and it helps ease the loneliness, the depression. Minseok’s funeral had been awful. All of his friends and family; Jongdae had felt so responsible, so _sick_ that he ended up leaving early. Jongin said he would allow them time, but he still hasn’t pulled them off of the case. 

No one else will take on the load.

On one slushy, gloomy afternoon, the doorbell rings.

Jongdae forces himself to get up off of the couch and trudges to the front door; he sees Jongin through the peephole and unlocks four deadbolts, a chain and then the handle, before opening the door. Kai’s admission that he’s somehow related to Jongin is still fresh in Jongdae’s mind, but he doesn’t have the will to make a fire of it quite yet. 

“Jesus,” Jongin recoils a bit. “Jongdae, I can smell the pig sty out here. What are you guys doing?”

“Good to see you too,” Jongdae deadpans, stepping aside to allow Jongin in.

The Chief takes off his shoes and coat, putting them away before stepping into the apartment. He glances around and takes in the garbage, the disarray — and then sighs softly.

“You guys can’t do this to yourselves,” he admonishes softly. He grabs a plastic take-out bag and starts picking up trash. “This is no way to live.”

“How can we live when Minseok is dead?” Jongdae asks rhetorically. The very question that’s been plaguing his mind for four weeks.

“Because now it’s more important than ever,” Jongin says. He sounds so rational. The rustle of him putting trash in the bag almost drowns out his voice. “You’re just making yourselves easy targets, moping around like this.”

“I’ve _been_ an easy target, Jongin,” Jongdae says, wandering towards the kitchen. “Kai has had every opportunity to kill me and he hasn’t. I could literally _tell him_ to off me and he probably wouldn’t.”

“Stop being so selfish,” Jongin snaps.

Slightly surprised, Jongdae stops in his tracks and looks back at the other. “What?”

“I said stop being so fucking selfish, Jongdae,” Jongin’s gaze is narrowed, the smiley face printed on the plastic bag making him look much less menacing than he probably intends. “This isn’t about only _you_. This about all of us. You, me— _Sehun_ ,” he whispers the younger’s name. He’s still sleeping in bed.

Jongdae slumps against the door frame of the kitchen. 

“You can’t get weak now.” Jongin recovers himself a bit and continues picking up trash. Once the bag is full he makes his way past Jongdae into the kitchen, tossing the sack into the bigger garbage can. He turns around, his expression softened slightly. “You’re stronger than all of us.”

“What if I’m not?” Jongdae whispers.

Jongin’s touch is hot when he grabs Jongdae’s wrist and turns him around. They lock gazes and Jongin looks so damn trusting, so earnest and honest and loyal Jongdae feels his gut churn. It’s wrong. He’s been discovering evidence that makes Jongin none of those things. 

“You are,” Jongin says softly. He’s close, too close, and Jongdae feels hot under the collar at his proximity. 

Jongdae shakes his head — to disagree, to try and shake some sense into himself — and Jongin reaches up, placing a hand over Jongdae’s nape and pressing their foreheads together to keep the older from refuting his words. Their eyes are still caught with one another and Jongdae exhales softly, feeling the fight leaving him. 

Jongin’s lips on his feel like an inferno.

It’s the second time Jongin has kissed him but instead of recoiling and pulling away, Jongdae finds himself grabbing onto the lapels of Jongin’s blazer and pulling him closer. The shorter’s back finds stability against the door frame of the kitchen once again and, encouraged, Jongin presses him up against it. Their tongues slide hotly, a mixture of desperation, frustration, and for the first time in a long time Jongdae’s stomach feels… butterflies, instead of nausea. 

His mind goes blank. All he can focus on is the coffee lingering in Jongin’s mouth, the feel of hands sliding up his sides and over his chest. He can't think about how wrong this is, how vile this is, how he has never been attracted to a man in his life. He can't think about Kai, can't think about Sehun sleeping peacefully in the darkness of his bedroom, can't think about Minseok’s broken, bloodied body. Jongin feels so real, warm and solid and Jongdae whimpers into his mouth, sliding his fingers up into Jongin’s dark hair, tugging softly, needily. 

Jongin’s hands are strong when he pulls Jongdae away from the door and clears a space on the counter to hoist the older man onto. Jongdae automatically wraps his legs around Jongin’s waist, panting softly, teeth catching on lips and fingers digging into the side of the taller man's neck. Skin hot, vision blurry, breath short, Jongdae breaks away to find some sanity only to have it ripped away when Jongin’s mouth attaches to his throat, biting and sucking and licking. 

“Ah,” Jongdae feels the pulse of arousal surge through his body so violently he shudders from head to toe. Jongin’s hands slide over his thighs, his palm wasting no time in pressing against the growing tent in Jongdae’s pajama pants. Feeling himself flush, Jongdae’s hips buck and he tosses his head back, squirming, writhing, unable to stay still. 

Jongin’s fingers pull the waistband of the sweats down to expose Jongdae’s leaking cock, and any resistance inside of the older dies when Jongin bends and takes his erection into his wet, hot mouth. Hissing through his teeth Jongdae tangles his fingers into dark, coiffed hair, holding Jongin in place as his hips twitch. Eyes raking over the Chief’s back, watching his broad shoulders shift under his blazer, Jongdae thinks (rather deliriously) that this is the most turned on he's ever been. And so suddenly, too. Jongin moans around his length and Jongdae lets out a pleased sigh in response, helping guide Jongin’s head as it bobs. 

When Jongin pulls away for air his full lips are red and spit-slicked, his pupils dark as he looks up at Jongdae. He wraps his fingers around the base of Jongdae’s cock and starts jerking in tight, shallow movements, and Jongdae recoils so hard from the pleasure he smacks the back of his head against the cabinets. They're being loud, they should keep it down with Sehun sleeping two rooms away, but caution seems to be in the wind when Jongin surges up for a sloppy, hot kiss. 

“Jongdae,” Jongin breathes, licking at Jongdae’s lips like he can't stand to not taste him. “Jongdae, Jongdae…” His moans are low, kittenish, and Jongdae responds by palming the front of his slacks firmly. 

This is madness. 

This is heaven. 

As soon as Jongin’s cock is exposed Jongdae scoots to the edge of the counter, thighs squeezing Jongin’s hips and keeping him close. Their erections slide against one another, precum and saliva dribbling over the skin and Jongdae wraps his hand around both lengths, squeezing. 

“Fuck,” he groans, feeling his balls tensing. 

Jongin lets out a similar sentiment from where his face is buried in Jongdae’s neck, teeth nibbling over the defined veins under the skin. They start rutting together and Jongdae hasn't frisked so recklessly since high school but he can't stop. It feels so good. His mind is clouded with pleasure and not rain for the first time in months and he holds onto it, riding out the euphoria for as long as possible. 

“Jongdae… I…” Jongin’s hips are losing pace, stuttering erratically. 

Grunting in response, Jongdae uses both hands to squeeze their cocks, creating a nice little vice for them. In this position on the counter he can't move his hips like Jongin, but the other is setting up such a nice pace and pressure Jongdae knows he'll find release easily enough. 

“Fuck, Jongdae—” Jongin’s voice breaks and that's the only warning he gives before he orgasms, his release spilling over Jongdae’s cock and fingers. 

There's still not quite enough friction, especially now with the cum on their skin, and Jongdae lets out a slight noise of frustration. As if on cue, Jongin pulls away and drops to squat, wrapping Jongdae’s legs around his head and mouthing over his cock. Jongdae groans at the sight, Jongin’s tan skin against his own angry pink flesh, and when Jongin looks up and makes eye contact, Jongdae reaches down to start jerking his cock. 

“Fuck yeah,” Jongin pulls off, lapping at the crown of Jongdae’s erection. “Cum in my mouth, Jongdae.”

_“Cum in me,”_ Jongdae hears Kai’s kittenish voice in his head, an echo of Jongin’s timbre. _“Fill me up with your cum, baby, make me leak for days.”_

Stars explode behind Jongdae’s closed lids and he gasps when he releases. Pulse after pulse spills onto Jongin’s waiting tongue and when he's done Jongdae slumps back against the cupboards, heart hammering, panic starting to settle as Jongin straightens and wipes his mouth. 

“Get out,” Jongdae’s voice is barely a whisper. 

“What—?” Jongin frowns in understandable confusion, his fingers frozen on his cum-covered chin.

“Get out,” Jongdae says louder, his voice catching with a bit of hysteria. What has he done? He fixes his pants and gets off of the counter, pushing Jongin’s shoulders lightly. “Get the fuck out of here.”

Jongin stumbles back and looks every bit like a wounded puppy. “But—”

“Out!” Jongdae yells. He’s starting to feel his defenses break down. He reaches for Jongin’s pants, haphazardly buttoning them up again all the while trying to push the man out of his kitchen. “Get out, I’m so fucking stupid—”

Jongin’s arms wrap around Jongdae so tightly, so securely, that Jongdae’s only reaction is to sag against him and whimper. Jongin wobbles a bit with the dead weight and then gently brings them both down onto the floor, holding Jongdae tighter still and rocking gently back and forth. He shushes Jongdae’s whimpers, his noises of defeat, hands petting and soothing and this isn’t right, this isn’t what Jongdae wants, or needs, he’s not in his right mind at all—

“I’m sorry,” Jongin says softly. He sounds a little choked up. “I’m sorry, Jongdae…”

It’s silent in the apartment. The scent of sex is stuck in Jongdae’s nostrils.

Jongin stays with him until he passes out from exhaustion, right there in the middle of the kitchen floor.

—

“You fucked him and now it's ok for him to hang around like this?” Sehun snorts. It's barely been twenty-four hours since Sehun woke up to Jongin depositing a nearly comatose Jongdae into bed and upon hearing of the transgressions that occurred in the kitchen, Sehun has been understandably irritated. 

“Sehun,” Jongdae rubs at his brow and lets out a suffering sigh. “He's not hanging around.”

“He's hanging around, Jongdae.” Sehun burrows into the couch, gaze narrowed at the older man, who is curled up in the recliner. “He brought us breakfast this morning.” 

“He's concerned,” Jongdae rolls his eyes. 

“He's a _suspect_ ,” Sehun snaps. Then he sneers, “Unless his dick was so great you forgot?”

“I don't want to talk about it anymore Sehun,” Jongdae mutters, turning on the television. 

“Great.” Sehun stands up with sudden emotion, throwing the blanket onto the couch. “You get to decide everything. Who's a suspect, who's not a suspect, who's dick you put in your mouth. Jesus Jongdae, since when do you—?” he throws his hands up in the air. “He's our _Chief_.”

Jongdae snaps in turn, from both irritation and embarrassment. “I get it Sehun, ok? I fucked my boss. I fucked the suspect in my own God damn kitchen and we can’t change that so stop fucking talking about it. It’s done.”

It takes three strides of Sehun’s gangly legs to cross over to where Jongdae is. He reaches down to shake Jongdae violently by the shoulders, looking all sorts of pissed off. Slightly startled, but not too rattled to be offended, Jongdae looks up into Sehun’s eyes and is surprised to see them glistening with tears.

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” Sehun says, his fingers digging into the curve of Jongdae’s shoulders. “Everyone is dying. We’re not even working on the case anymore, we’re just sitting ducks, _waiting_ to be killed. Why? Why haven’t you caught him? Why isn’t Jongin guilty?”

“Sehun…” Jongdae murmurs softly. He reaches up to take ahold of Sehun’s hands. 

“When am I going to die?” 

Sehun’s broken voice breaks Jongdae’s heart and he tugs the younger down, encouraging him to curl up on Jongdae so he can wrap the blanket around them both. He doesn't have answers and Sehun knows that. They both know how helpless they truly are, and Jongdae hates it. With his arms securely around Sehun, he speaks softly. 

“Jongin isn't Kai.” Sehun sniffles in reply. “Kai isn't Jongin. What happened yesterday… Something about it cleared the air, cleared my head. They're not the same person.” It's a gut feeling, one Jongdae hopes he doesn't come to regret. But in all honesty, even if Jongin and Kai are eerily similar in voice, action, and looks, Jongdae doesn't feel right lumping them together anymore. 

He can't put his finger on it, but he has a suspicion Kai will confirm or deny sooner or later. 

Understandably, Sehun lets out a little frustrated noise. “You’re basing all of this on an orgasm.”

“That’s not—” Jongdae sighs. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

A silence follows his words, and it seems like Sehun doesn’t have any more fight left in him to keep arguing. It both comforts and worries Jongdae that Sehun is just… ok with how everything is panning out. Because Sehun is right: they’re just sitting ducks, right now. There’s no other digging they can do on the case, and Minseok was their biggest resource for basically all relevant information. And Minseok’s death… That just confirmed the fact that the future victims ( _“Sacrifices!”_ , Kai’s voice replies in Jongdae’s head) aren’t going to be mere strangers.

It’s quite obvious that they’re next.

“Did you talk to your mom yesterday?” Jongdae finally asks. “She’s been trying to get ahold of you for a while.”

Sehun’s response is bratty from the crook of Jongdae’s neck, “Did you call _your_ mom?” 

Touché.

Sighing, Jongdae reaches for the lever on the side of the chair and reclines them so swiftly Sehun lets out a surprised noise and hangs on for dear life. “No, I didn’t. I… I don’t know what I’d even say to her.”

“I was going to call her,” Sehun continues softly. “But I couldn’t.”

“We should talk to our parents,” Jongdae says. 

They’re both very aware of the reason that they should make one final call to their parents, but neither of them are willing to even think about it extensively. Jongdae knows that as soon as his mother picks up the phone she will know that something is wrong. Moms are good for that. And Jongdae has never been able to lie to his mom, even if it were for her own good. But the knowledge that when he says goodbye to her next is probably going to be the last goodbye he gets — and not even in person — pains him more than anything. 

Sehun is too weak to call his mother and not open the can of worms that they’re getting consumed by, and Jongdae knows that the last thing Sehun wants is to alarm his mother by saying something reckless like ‘I don’t have long, but I need to tell you I love you’.

So they’ve been stewing alone, together, in the confinement of Jongdae’s apartment, awaiting their fate. Maybe they can write letters instead.

“Hey…” Jongdae speaks up, dropping the subject of family. “Why don’t you hate me?”

Sehun replies with a silent, noncommittal shrug. 

“Really,” Jongdae shifts a little and reaches to pull Sehun away from his neck a bit so he can try and look at the younger’s face. He hates the sadness in Sehun’s eyes. “All of this shit…”

“...The moment I met you back in the academy,” Sehun finally speaks, “I decided that I’d always have your back, just like you always had mine.” They don’t really talk about their academy days — mostly for the sake of Sehun’s ego. Jongdae listens patiently. “You saved me from hazings and bullying and all sorts of really dumb stuff that I should have been able to protect myself from. You did it even though you were older and so much better than me. I didn’t even ask you to, but you just… watched out for me. You’re the reason I even graduated.”

Jongdae smiles softly. “I couldn’t let a runt like you get his dreams crushed by those assholes.”

Sehun’s lips curl in the faintest of smiles in return. “This really fucking blows, Jongdae. I’m not even thirty years old— I’m single and I don’t even have a fucking dog to write a will to, and I’m waiting for some psycho to put me out of my misery. I don’t want to leave these four walls, I think I’d rather die of starvation or drown in the bathtub than let Kai axe me, but…” he shrugs softly. “I’m here with you. And I will stay with you until the end.”

Jongdae reaches up to clumsily wipe a tear off of his cheek. Looking up at the ceiling, because he can’t stand how his heart hurts when he looks at Sehun, he swallows thickly and nods.

“I’ll protect you,” he says.

_”I’ll protect you,” Jongdae grinned at Sehun from the top bunk, draped over the edge so he could look at the younger. “From all the assholes in the world, ‘kay?”_

_Sehun rolled his eyes and grabbed his pillow to launch it up at Jongdae’s face. “Whatever._ You’re _an asshole too, y’know.”_

_Jongdae caught the pillow and promptly launched it back at Sehun, his grin even bigger than before. “Good thing I’m on your side, huh?”_

_Sehun lifted his feet and kicked at the underside of Jongdae’s bed, laughing. “Yeah, good.”_

“I know,” Sehun whispers, drawing the blanket up to cover them better. After another few moments of silence, Sehun asks, “So… Since when do you like guys?”

Jongdae grabs a couch pillow and tries to smother Sehun with it, loudly changing the subject to what they’ll have for dinner.

They end up falling asleep tangled up in each other, instead.

—

Denial is a beautiful thing, and ignorance is bliss. Perhaps Jongdae is just so ready to succumb to his fate, he finds it in himself to be much more… _cheery_ than he has been the past few months. ‘Cheery’ might not be the right word, but — he’s smiling more, laughing more, and seems to be back to his ‘old self’. Sehun’s emotions trail behind him unsurely, but without work and the pair only spending time together (occasionally punctuated by visits from Jongin), it’s almost as if they feel… free. Both of them have saved up enough money to live comfortably, and Jongin had approved a sort of medical leave so that their bank accounts wouldn’t drain quicker than necessary. 

They go to movies, they go on walks, they visit bars. There’s always that warning in the back of their heads — ‘Don’t leave’, ‘Don’t be seen’, ‘He’ll find you’ — but a small part of them accepted that come what may, they are not going to live in paralyzing fear forever. Sehun still has nightmares, still has to sleep in Jongdae’s bed or constantly be around the older, which is fine. Jongdae likes having him close because it gives him a nice illusion of control.

Kai hasn’t shown up in three weeks.

Jongin has been a constant.

Jongdae tries not to think that the two are related somehow. Not when he’s finally feeling some semblance of normalcy towards the chief. ‘Normalcy’ being shy hand touches and a few random, heated makeout sessions, in any case.

On a day where Sehun is choosing to snooze, Jongin comes over to join Jongdae in relaxing on the couch and watching movies. They’re comfortable on the couch, and while Jongdae has been more receptive than ever, Jongin is still cautious when it comes to anything beyond handshakes or friendly hugs. 

Resting his cheek on Jongin’s shoulder, Jongdae stares at the television without really looking at it. “What will you do?”

Jongin shifts to drape an arm around Jongdae’s frame, “What do you mean?” He smells like deodorant and fabric softener.

“What will you do when me and Sehun are dead?”

He can feel Jongin tense slightly. They haven’t talked about it, not explicitly like this, and Jongdae figures it’s about time.

“You’ll have four dead officers and a cold case,” Jongdae murmurs.

“I don’t want to think of it like that,” Jongin starts to say.

“You have to think of it _some_ way,” Jongdae says, doing his best to not get huffy. “You can’t just pretend this isn’t happening.”

“Like you’ve been?” Jongin retorts.

They both fall silent.

Jongdae exhales, “I don’t know how else I should act. I’m tired of being scared. I need to be strong for Sehun…”

Jongin’s hips shift and then he’s turning to rest his back against the arm of the couch, drawing Jongdae up onto his chest and cradling him warmly, carding fingers through his hair. Jongdae relaxes into the touch, absorbs Jongin’s warmth and scent, and then quiets down.

“I’m going to retire,” Jongin finally says.

Jongdae stays silent, but noses up into Jongin’s neck to encourage him to continue.

“I won’t be able to offer the force anything, after this. I’ll be worthless. So I’ll retire early, pull out all my pensions... “ There’s a small smile tinging the edges of Jongin’s voice. “Go to the countryside where my family has a farm. They’ve always wanted my help out there, and now I’ll finally be able to give back to them.”

Jongdae snorts a little, “Never pegged you for a farm boy.”

Jongin preens, “You think I got this tan in the city?”

Jongdae smiles, settling back down into Jongin’s frame, imagining their bodies becoming liquid and fully immersing within one another.

“You deserve happiness,” Jongdae finally says.

Jongin’s response is a quiet, “I want to be happy with you…”

\--

Jongdae is startled awake by the most cold, violent awakening he’s ever experienced. Something hard, sharp, and freezing cold gets dumped over his head and when he opens his eyes and regains consciousness, he sees Kai standing in front of him holding an empty bucket. Jongdae’s breath is short, goosebumps erupting on his skin and he looks down to see ice cubes littering his lap and the floor; he shivers violently, feeling his teeth start to chatter.

“What the fuck?” 

Kai tsks, tossing the bucket aside with a clatter. Jongdae flinches at the noise. They’re in the same basement-type room as last time, but it’s much darker, only a single bulb above Jongdae’s head bringing him into a five-foot radius of light.

“Nice to see you, too, detective~” Kai says with a smirk. He’s wearing that white mask again, no eyeholes, his mouth exposed. His ashy blond hair is greased back, a few gaudy earrings dangling from his ears. 

Jongdae spits at his feet, “Just kill me already, will you? I’m sick of your games.”

“Ah,” Kai’s mouth opens in mock surprise, and he lifts a finger up to his chin. “But… today’s game is the funnest of them all.” His mouth curls into a sinister smirk and he takes a step back, reaching up to pull the chain of a fluorescent track light, bathing the basement in stale, stark white light. 

It takes Jongdae’s eyes a moment to adjust, but when they do, he sees Jongin tied to a chair ten feet in front of him. His heart plummets into his gut.

“Jongin--?!”

Jongin is slumped over, chin to chest. He’s still in the clothes that he was wearing at Jongdae’s house, and he looks relatively unharmed.

“Mmm, it might take a bit for him to wake up,” Kai says conversationally, clapping his hands together and then rubbing them gleefully. “Wait until you see what I have prepared for today!”

Jongdae’s mind is racing. “Where’s Sehun?”

Kai stops his tittering and looks at Jongdae sharply. His eyes are shielded, but Jongdae feels them boring into his soul. “Oh, Sehun…” Kai licks his lips. “You could say he’s… two sheets to the wind.”

Jongdae isn’t stupid. 

Sehun is dead.

He ducks his head, his shoulders straining from the way his hands are bound behind the chair. His eyes feel hot and wet and he knew he couldn’t prevent this, knew they couldn’t evade death forever, but he still feels such immense guilt, like lead on his conscience and coal in his gut. 

“Aw.” Suddenly Kai is kneeling in front of Jongdae, tipping his chin up. Jongdae jerks, not wanting to feel that burning, demonic touch. “He went quickly. Much quicker than the others. He embraced my coming…” Kai’s finger traces over Jongdae’s jaw, making the detective snap his head back in disgust. Kai seems unbothered. “Right through the heart.” He uses his finger to poke Jongdae’s chest. “Instantaneous. Virtually no pain.”

“How pious of you,” Jongdae spits, snarling. 

“I thought so,” Kai shrugs, standing up and turning to walk over towards where Jongin is slumped over. “Now… Can you imagine the sweet sight I happened upon at your home?” He places three fingers on Jongin’s shoulder as he walks around the back of the chair. “So sweet. You and the chief all cuddled up like two teens on a first date.” Kai then stands next to the chair, his fingers on Jongin’s opposite shoulder. Kai is wearing ripped black jeans and an obscure band shirt with a leather jacket over top, and he looks like some sorry excuse for a gangster from a cheesy drama. Jongdae just glares. “As far as I knew, Jongdae, you only had feelings for me.” Kai pouts, and then smirks, his free hand dropping below his belt to grab his own package lewdly. “And my body.”

“Shut up,” Jongdae snaps. “Let Jongin go. He’s not what you want--”

“Ah ah ah~” Kai shakes his head, and his hand starts massaging Jongin’s shoulder in an effort to no doubt try and wake the man up. “On the contrary, detective, I am very much interested in Jongin.”

Jongdae feels like his own face is going to spontaneously combust, with how hard he’s glaring at Kai. “Why? You’ve never expressed interest in him until now.”

“Detective, detective, detective,” Kai reaches up to the edge of the white mask, silver rings glinting on his fingers. “Dear Jongin, here…” He pulls off the mask and Jongdae feels his gut lurch. It’s different than the picture that Minseok had discovered, different seeing it in real life versus a grainy old photo that had barely been retouched. Here, in this dingy basement, Kai removes his mask to reveal a face identical to Jongin’s. The same almond-shaped eyes, the same slightly flat nose, the same strong brow bone. Kai and Jongin look exactly the same. “...is my vessel.”

Ever since the photo, Jongdae had accepted that Kai and Jongin share some similar features. But to be carbon copies of one another is almost too much, and Jongdae averts his gaze, unable to look at Kai. His heart is racing, his head is pounding, his fingers coming in and out of numbness as he tries to undo the bindings around his wrists. He’s still cold from the ice, body going through bouts of heating up with emotion and then cooling down again with uneven breaths. 

“That’s not very nice, Jongdae,” Kai chastises, obviously referring to how Jongdae won’t look at him.

“This is fucked up,” Jongdae says, half delirious. “You’re psycho.”

Kai sighs heavily. The sound of his boots hitting the floor as he approaches Jongdae feels like hammers in his ear drums. Kai crouches in Jongdae’s line of sight and Jongdae closes his eyes tightly in response, feeling sick to his stomach. 

“You know I’m not crazy,” Kai says. His hands rest on Jongdae’s knees. “You know that every bit of information you have uncovered is true. You know what my mission is.”

Jongdae shakes his head. “No. Fuck you, Kai. Aliens aren’t fucking real, there’s no fucking Tree -- you’re just a psychopath serial killer--”

Kai puts two fingers on Jongdae’s head and pushes _hard_. Jongdae’s head snaps back and all of a sudden he’s spiraling out of his chair, falling through an endless void -- a kaleidoscope of colors assault his vision, bright flashes of light nearly blind him, and when he comes down from lightspeed he’s floating, an astral projection above a lush forest. Instead of greens, browns and reds the forest is colored blues, aquas and deep purples, stretching beyond Jongdae’s line of vision. 

Unsure of what exactly is happening, as well as knowing he has no control of it, Jongdae lets his astral body float over the trees. It doesn’t take long for him to reach the tallest tree in the forest, and as soon as he lays eyes on it, he knows.

The Tree of Life.

He feels an odd sense of familiarity as he floats in front of the massive tree. Each branch is pulsing slightly, like it has its own heartbeat. Voices float up to where Jongdae is and he glances down, seeing twelve figures huddled at the base of the giant trunk. His astral body floats closer and he can start to make out the conversation, ears straining to ear what sound like a foreign language.

“ _We don’t have much time._ ” A familiar voice says. “ _We have to do this now, or else forfeit our entire existence -- our people and our culture._ ”

“ _But what if it doesn’t work?_ ”

The words are definitely foreign, but Jongdae’s mind is translating them as they filter through his ears. He frowns as he floats even closer, looking between all of the hooded people.

“ _We have to have faith that it will,_ ” the first voice replies. Jongdae sees the hooded figure has more decorations around his neck than the others. The leader?

A new voice speaks, “ _We will follow you anywhere, Wise one._ ”

The decorated figure reaches out to place an elegant hand upon the shoulder of the figure next to him. “ _You have always been my most loyal._ ”

The other hooded figure bows graciously, and then all at once, twelve pairs of hands are rising to lift the hoods from their heads.

Jongdae loses his breath.

Chanyeol. Kyungsoon. Zitao. Joonmyun, Luhan, Yixing, Yifan, Baekhyun, Minseok -- Jongdae feels dizzy. The next hood down reveals Sehun, and Jongdae feels his heart break. The decorated one and the figure next to him lower their hoods at the same time, and Jongdae is sure that if this weren’t an astral projection, he would faint.

The decorated man is Jongdae himself.

His right hand man is none other than Kai.

Before Jongdae can properly react the kaleidoscope eats him up again, sucking him into the swirling vortex of hyper speed, pulling him through the galaxies and then spitting him back into his body. There’s a clatter and Jongdae and the chair he’s tied to fall to the floor violently. Jongdae coughs up some blood, barely clinging to consciousness and gasping for air.

“Now…” Kai crouches next to where Jongdae lie fallen. “How was your journey?”

“I’m not,” Jongdae wheezes, “like you.”

“Oh, but you see Jongdae,” Kai stands up, starting to pace excitedly. “It was all your idea! Your idea to split the tree, to scatter it with all twelve Legends and then bring it back to life once we were all reunited. I’ve been waiting too long for your vessel. I have done so much in effort to find you.” He crouches again, head tilting so he can look properly at Jongdae, manic smile on his lips. “I never would have guessed that you would have been the most difficult to retrieve.”

Jongdae shakes his head, groaning, trying to wriggle free from his bonds. “No, no…”

“I suppose we could say that, if we looked at the fact that it was all your idea…” Kai gets gleeful. “ _You’re_ the serial killer!”

“NO!” Jongdae yells out. He feels himself breaking, inside and out. He’s not the man in the vision. He’s not an alien. He’s not responsible for the deaths of ten people. It’s not him, it’s not him…

With amazing strength Kai picks up Jongdae’s chair and sets him upright, his hands on the arms as he peers into Jongdae’s face. “You’re it, detective. You are the Wise One. You are responsible for all of us being on this filthy rock, responsible for restoring the Tree of Life--” Kai smirks wickedly, licking his sharp teeth with his tongue. “Responsible for _murder_.”

Jongdae jerks his head forward, head-butting Kai square in the forehead with the crown of his head. Kai curses and stumbles back, a hand covering his face; Jongdae breathes heavily, adrenaline pumping as he glares up at the other. Kai pulls his hand away and stares at the blood on his hand, and then stares at Jongdae in disbelief.

“You made me bleed…”

Jongdae spits at Kai’s feet, defiant.

And then, absurdly, Kai gets _ecstatic_. “You made me bleed! Only the true Wise One can inflict damage upon a Legend!” He smears the blood from his palm all over his face and then dances around the room, cackling gleefully. “The Wise One, the Wise One!”

The Kai in the astral projection wasn’t this… stilted, Jongdae thinks to himself. He glances over at Jongin and feels his heart skip a beat -- Jongin’s eyes are open, fixed on Jongdae, fear glinting wildly in them. As Kai dances around Jongdae licks his lips and gives a small nod to Jongin, trying to convey that he stay quiet. Jongin nods in return and hangs his head to his chest again, and Jongdae’s fingers start working on the rope around his wrists once more. 

“Hey,” Kai says breathlessly, suddenly back in Jongdae’s realm of vision. Jongdae freezes. “I know what you’re doing.” Kai reaches around and tugs on a part of the rope that makes it pull tighter and Jongdae lets out a sharp cry of pain, hanging his head and clenching his jaw. “Mmmm…” Kai pulls away and glides over to Jongin, grabbing the man by the hair on the back of his head and yanking it up with a smirk.

Jongin can’t pretend to be asleep any longer and he cries out, body tensing and back arching to try and alleviate the pressure on his scalp. 

“You can’t save each other,” Kai says, feigning sadness. “I’m afraid your fates are sealed. You will die... “ He looks down at Jongin, who looks utterly shocked to be staring at someone identical to himself. “We all will die.”

“Jongin,” Jongdae cuts through Kai’s melodious words. “Stay with me. Don’t fall for what he says, ok? We’re going to be alright. You’re going to be fine.”

Jongin can’t tear his gaze away from Kai’s face. He makes no indication of hearing Jongdae’s words, so Jongdae speaks louder.

“ _Jongin_ , don’t fall for his bullshit!”

Jongin snaps out of it, his gaze returning to Jongdae. Kai lets go of the chief’s hair and then returns to stand in the middle of the room, spreading his arms out to the side. 

“All that’s left is to kill my vessel so that I may take it over,” he explains, and then looks over at Jongdae. “...And for you to die and be reborn into your true role.”

“There has to be another way--” Jongdae’s over the edge. He’s broken. His tone is pleading and this is it, he’s really helpless. He’s tied to a chair, ten people are dead because of him, and he’s about to watch the one person he took a foolish chance on perish _because of him_.

Jongdae’s eyes are closed when Kai’s voice whispers in his ear.

“There is no other way.”

The detective’s eyes open in time to watch the flash of silver preceding a torrential downpour of crimson. Kai has sliced Jongin’s neck from ear to ear -- Jongin’s eyes are wide, fixated on Jongdae as he chokes on his own blood. The tendons inside his throat are flexing, working, trying to both swallow and cough up the sudden influx of liquid but it’s spilling out of his mouth, pouring down the front of his shirt and Jongdae watches in horror, unable to make a single sound, unable to move, unable to do _anything_.

“Jong…” Jongin wheezes, his limbs starting to spasm.

“I’m so sorry,” Jongdae says, voice hoarse, his face wet with tears.

Covered in blood and gruesome as he’s ever been, Jongin’s red stained lips manage to lift up in a small smile. It looks like he tries to form words, and then his head falls back, the light leaving his eyes, the inner workings of his throat exposed as his body sags and he finally expires.

It’s quiet. 

For a delirious moment, Jongdae thinks that Kai has poofed away again. He feels so alone, sitting across from Jongin’s dead body. Everything has been taken away from him… every _one_ has been taken away from him. As he stares down at his lap, absorbing everything, he feels something building up inside of him, slowly filling the emptiness. Anger? Disappointment? Hatred? He thinks about how he’ll never hear Sehun’s laugh again, he thinks so hard about his stupid lisp that he always tried to hide and how Jongdae always thought it was super adorable. He thinks about Minseok and how he’ll never help Jongdae figure out how the hell to use Windows 10. He thinks about everyone else, too, and how their loved ones will never know what happened to them… Who killed them, and for what reason. Not that it’s believable, by any means. 

A pair of boots come into his range of vision and Jongdae glances up to see Kai looking down at him. There’s no mad glint in the other man’s eyes. No sadistic twist of his lips, no tremble in his fingers. Kai’s expression is pensive as he looks down at Jongdae, and Jongdae doesn’t realize he’s sobbing until Kai bends down close enough for Jongdae to muffle the noise in his shoulder. Kai reaches around and unties the rope cutting into Jongdae’s skin, rubs his fingers over the bruised flesh, and noses gently against Jongdae’s ear.

“I’m sorry it had to be this way…” Kai whispers.

Jongdae must be crazy, because he believes him, and he sags against Kai’s solid, _real_ body, howling in despair into Kai’s shirt.

\--

By now Jongdae has just accepted that he sometimes wakes up in a totally different place than he fell asleep. He accepts that sometimes he’s not even asleep when he blinks and finds himself in a new location. So when he comes to in his own bed in his apartment, fully dressed, clean, and with a clear head, he doesn’t question it. He checks the clock to see it blinking 02:00 and then he sits up, rubbing the back of his neck.

There are rope marks burned into the skin of his wrists. 

He’s on auto-pilot when he gets dressed in a suit he’d normally wear to work. He makes sure his tie is snug and straight, loops his leather belt neatly and fastens it tightly, makes sure his shoes are polished. Over his button-up he works his arms into his leather shoulder holster, buckling it up over his sternum and giving it a tug to make sure it’s snug. He clips another holster to his belt and then walks over to the safe sitting on top of his dresser, twisting the combination until it clicks and the door pops open. He tucks the revolver into his shoulder holster, the government-issued glock into his hip holster, and then takes a breath.

Shrugging into a suit jacket, Jongdae leaves his cell phone, wallet, and badge, and takes one last look around his apartment as he walks through it. It’s still a disaster from both Minseok and Sehun staying with him. Their laughs echo in his ears as he makes his way to the front door, hand reaching out towards the knob. He pauses, fingers a scant millimeter away from the metal, and then clenches his jaw.

He’s going to take Kai down, once and for all.

His fingers touch the knob and thunder crashes outside, lightning sparking through Jongdae’s body and carrying him out of his personal prison. 

When his feet touch the ground again he’s on a rooftop, wind howling and thunder clapping in the distance. Lightning flashes and Kai emerges from the shadows, his expression solemn as he regards Jongdae, who has his feet planted and fists raised, ready to strike at any time. 

“No matter how this ends, Jongdae,” Kai says, speaking loud enough for Jongdae to hear, “it’s going to start over how it’s meant to be.”

“I’m going to go out on my terms,” Jongdae yells back. A few rain drops splatter onto his cheek. “You’ve taken _everything_ from me. I won’t give you the satisfaction of taking me, too.”

Kai shakes his head, using a hand to push his blond hair out of his face. His face twitches, the ghost of that crazy grin stretching his lips illuminated by lightning before it disappears just as quickly. Jongdae watches the minor expression change with interest.

“You…” Jongdae licks his lips. “You’re the only one that existed outside of your vessel.”

Kai’s gaze is heavy when it rests on Jongdae. He doesn’t say anything.

“You were split from your vessel, and the rest of us… The rest of us were just one being.” Jongdae’s thoughts are going a million miles an hour. “That’s why you were so unstable. That’s why you seem so normal now.” Jongdae’s eyes search Kai’s features. “If we’re all supposed to die to be reborn as Legends in new bodies… what happens to you now that you and Jongin have merged?”

With a clap of thunder, Kai disappears. Jongdae immediately goes on the defense, pulling his revolver from his shoulder holster and cocking it, holding it steady as he starts to take a few steps forward, head on swivel. 

“Kai?” Jongdae calls out.

“You’ve always been smart.” Kai’s voice is disembodied, and Jongdae struggles to locate it with all the wind blowing about. “What do you think will happen to me?”

A clatter to Jongdae’s left has him whipping around, gun aiming to a piece of scrap metal trying to skitter along the cement. Glancing around, Jongdae adjusts his grip on the gun. “I don’t know.”

“Think about it,” Kai’s voice is suddenly in Jongdae’s ear. “You all have to die, to be reborn. I’m still alive.”

Realization sinks into the pit of Jongdae’s gut. Kai is planning on dying tonight to complete the ritual.

“Well,” Jongdae whips around quickly, but Kai isn’t standing behind him. He’s no longer freaked out by Kai’s disappearing act, and instead starts to let his gaze wander around the roof top again. “That’s too bad for you. I’m not a killer.”

Kai’s arms are suddenly around Jongdae’s waist, hugging the detective’s back to his chest. “But I am,” he whispers along Jongdae’s neck, making the man’s knees weak. In a flash his hands move to Jongdae’s and with incredible expertise and skill, he opens up the chamber of the revolver to empty out all of the bullets -- save for one. He spins the chamber and then snaps it back into place and then pulls away, the cold wind harsh against Jongdae’s back.

Jongdae looks down at the bullets littering his feet and then lowers his gun, still defensive even though it’s quite obvious that no matter how hard he tries, Kai will still sneak up on him. “What is your plan tonight, Kai?”

“If I tell you, you won’t let me do it.”

Pain explodes in Jongdae’s ribs and he loses his breath in a whoosh, before he staggers away to right his footing. Kai is in front of him now and not backing down, not disappearing, raising his fist to strike Jongdae again -- Jongdae uses one hand to block the blow to his face, dodging away. Kai’s body turns and one of his long legs comes up, foot aiming for Jongdae’s opposite side, and Jongdae wraps his arms around Kai’s shin, twisting to get the man off balance. They both stumble together, thunder rumbling in the background, and in the chaos of their misplaced footing, Kai’s fist manages to cuff the side of Jongdae’s head, making his vision blur.

So far, in all of this, Kai has yet to physically harm Jongdae to any crucial extent. He’s clearly provoking Jongdae by picking a physical fight with him… and it’s clearly working, because Jongdae loads his strength into his right arm and manages to land his knuckles right on the curve of Kai’s jaw. 

It feels amazing. 

The man staggers back and spits out some blood, grinning, satisfied with Jongdae’s response. All of the anger Jongdae has held onto, all of the sadness and negative emotions come barreling out of him in a war cry and when Kai rushes him again Jongdae tackles him, sending them both down to the ground. Jongdae uses the butt of his revolver to pistol whip the blond, and after that it’s a mess of fists and feet as they roll around on the cold ground.

In a quick move Kai manages to get the gun from Jongdae’s hand, his feet going over his head as he rolls backwards to get away from Jongdae. They both stand at the same time, Jongdae drawing the glock from his hip, the two men aiming their weapons at one another. 

Kai is splitting at the seams. The strength and resolution of Jongin’s personality is swirling with the instability of Kai’s madness and Jongdae can see all of the conflicting emotions flashing in Kai’s eyes, see them twitching his lips.

Their tussle wasn’t as epic or as satisfying as Jongdae had hoped it would be, but now that they’re in a standoff, Jongdae has the realization that he knows how this is going to end. 

They all have to die.

It’s almost as if Kai can hear Jongdae’s thoughts, because he takes off running the instant the idea crosses Jongdae’s mind. Cursing, Jongdae follows after him, dodging around vents and exhaust pipes and storage sheds before he finally comes to the edge of the building. Kai is standing on the ledge, the revolver pointed to his own head, and Jongdae feels his gut drop.

“This is how it ends,” Kai exhales. The wind is so loud, Jongdae has to read his lips.

“Kai--” Jongdae holsters his gun, holding up his hands and bracing himself against the impending storm. Kai can’t kill himself. It’s not _fair_ , Jongdae thinks wildly, that Kai is so ready to take himself out when Jongdae has been so agonized over all of this, when Jongdae has nothing left to _live_ for.

“What do you think will kill me faster?” The crazy edge is back in Kai’s voice, and Jongdae is filled with dread. “A bullet to my brain, or my head impacting on cement?”

Jongdae’s eyes are on the way Kai’s finger vibrates on the trigger of the revolver. No. This isn’t how it’s going to end. Kai is _not_ going to win this. “Don’t—” Jongdae takes a step forward but immediately staggers back when Kai flings an arm out to the side, exposing himself. 

“Or maybe a bullet from your gun?”

Jongdae feels that rage bubbling up inside of him again, as the wind tries to knock him over. “Things don’t have to end like this!”

Kai has a dreamy expression on his features as he replies, “This is the only way.” The smile that splits his lips brings panic to Jongdae’s gut. “Let me know which one killed me faster.” He jumps.

Jongdae raises his gun and fires, the bullet hitting the invisible bullseye in the center of Kai’s forehead before the man’s body goes sailing eighty floors. Breathing heavily, Jongdae’s fingers tremble on the grip of his gun, shock settling into his system. For the first time he has used his gun selfishly, angrily, for his own gain. He has never shot a single person before. 

He killed Kai.

He murdered Kai.

He...

He looks down at the gun in his hands, the fog in his brain starting to clear.

He _released_ Kai.

Closing his eyes, Jongdae lifts the gun to his own temple, feeling peace for the first time in almost a year. True, blissful peace, not born of ignorance or denial, and he feels a smile curving his lips as his finger flexes on the trigger.

This is how it has to end. 

This is how it has to begin.

He pulls the trigger.

Stars explode in the sky, and Jongdae’s ashes blow up into the cosmos.

 

 

 

\--

EPILOGUE

 

“Was it worth it?”

Kai’s words bring Jongdae out of his trance; Jongdae had been leaning against the balcony of their castle, their fortress, their skyscraper, for the better part of the past hour, eyes watching the flourishing view before him. There aren’t any flying cars or androids, but this future is a longshot from the Earth that Jongdae had lived on while occupying his vessel. Forests are growing, the human carbon footprint is shrinking, and it’s been one hundred years since that fateful night on the rooftop but humanity has come to terms with the ‘alien invasion’, as well as the growth of the Tree, and have accepted that the Earth’s spiral towards doom and destruction has been reversed. There had been a war period, of course, governments around the world wary of an outside force that had an interest to unite everyone towards one goal -- that goal being the restoration of Earth and its capacity to grow the Tree of Life. Jongdae had had the misunderstanding, when he occupied his vessel, that Kai was going to extinguish the human race and replace it with his own alienkind in order to recover the Tree. On the contrary, no blood had been spilled in anger, alien or human, and the war period was a cold one, more threats and puffed feathers than any sort of crucial attack. 

But once everything had calmed down -- once the Legends had planted the Seeds and nurtured the Tree -- things shifted. Earth itself righted its path when the Tree took root; what scientists had feared (mass extinction of animal species, unbreathable air, and climate change) seemed to reverse, and of course Jongdae had allowed the world’s brightest minds come see the Tree, take samples of it, study it. 

An unexplainable phenomenon -- a miracle. Even scientists were moved by the magic of it all. 

And so, Jongdae held reign -- not as any sort of King of the World, but as the Tree’s main guardian. The Legends all stood behind him, supported him, helping cultivate the Tree and all of its Gifts. There has been no war between man since the establishment of the Legend’s Rule, and Earth was, for the first time since its creation, in a peaceful state. 

Presently, Jongdae turns to look at Kai with a kittenish smile, still resting his elbows on the balcony ledge. “Was what worth it?”

Kai smiles knowingly, also leaning against the ledge and looking out over the city. The skyscrapers still stand tall, their ledges and windows entwined with beautiful ivies and vines, the Tree breathing life into even the most cold of inanimate object. “One hundred years ago on the roof.”

Jongdae hums, thinking back to that stormy night. He had had shot and killed Kai, and then committed suicide… And at the time he had done it without a full understanding of what was to come, but with the hope that greater things were in the works. He had been right, thankfully.

“It was,” Jongdae finally says, resting his chin in his hand and smiling a bit wider at Kai. “Shooting you was very cathartic.”

Kai rolls his eyes and laughs a little, shaking his head, chocolate fringe swaying in front of his eyes. “I bet it was. I’m surprised you didn’t sooner.”

Jongdae shrugs softly, returning his gaze back out towards the city. It’s quiet… calm. Airplanes occasionally fly overhead, there’s the odd honk of a car horn; but up here, just Jongdae and Kai, it’s a sort of quiet that Jongdae has come to cherish deeply. In the past one hundred years he has rediscovered himself -- not only as a reincarnated alien being, but as _himself_ … as the real, true, Kim Jongdae, a man dedicated to helping others and bettering the lives in the community around him. And in the past one hundred years he has rediscovered Kai… Not only as Kai, the seemingly unstable alien who set forth in motion a plan Jongdae concocted thousands of years ago, but as Jongin -- honest, trustworthy, loyal… A leader, a comrade, a companion. 

Kai and Jongin are truly one in the same, and it didn’t take long for Jongdae to realize that he hadn’t lost Jongin at all, that night -- instead, he had freed him… and now, he has him. 

Straightening up, Jongdae stretches his arms above his head. His robes part slightly at the chest, exposing his smooth skin and the seal of his power -- a scorpion scorched over his left breast -- before he relaxes and adjusts his clothing. He catches Kai’s wandering eye and smirks a little, turning to head back into the palace, the hem of his regalia skimming the marbled floor as he walks. Kai follows dutifully, never far from Jongdae for any reason, and they make their way to the banquet room where a meeting is scheduled for mid-noon. There are already ten robed figures seated around the half-moon table, and they stand as soon as Jongdae enters the room, a beacon of white among deep reds, purples, and blues. 

“How is the Tree today?” Jongdae asks, sitting down at the head of the table. 

The rest of the figures sit down, and it’s Minseok who speaks up first, his hands spreading in front of him a digital display of readings, “The Tree is still exponentially growing and harnessing power.”

“And the output?” Jongdae asks, drumming his fingers over the surface of the table. 

“Incredible,” Minseok smiles. His fingers tap on the holographic display screen, a live image of the Tree flickering into view between his hands. “Electricity usage is down eight percent. My calculations show that in three years we will be relying strictly on Solar power and the Tree’s energy. All of our automated systems -- computers, holograms, cars -- will be running off of the energy.”

Jongdae smiles and nods. “Keep up the good work, Minseok. You’re the only one who knows how to harness the energy properly, but please don’t forget to teach people along the way.”

“Why,” Minseok smiles wryly, waving his hands to get the image of the Tree and data to disappear, “Afraid I’m gonna retire?” 

Jongdae snorts, “You’d never.”

Minseok sighs, “You’re right.”

Grinning, Jongdae turns his attention to Sehun. “How is the Academy going?”

Sehun grumbles a little incoherently, glaring off to the side. Jongdae arches a brow and Sehun lets out a little groan, “Why am _I_ the teacher?”

Jongdae reaches over towards him to pat his shoulder, almost patronizingly, “Because they relate to you and your baby face.”

Sehun huffs and swats Jongdae’s hands away. “They’re all brats.”

“ _Hmmmm_ ,” Jongdae hums pointedly, playfully tapping his chin in thought.

Another huff, another groan. “They’re doing fine. The first class will be ready to graduate in the Spring. They’ll be prepared to go on their mission trips.”

Jongdae nods, “It’s very important that we reach every corner of this Earth to help those who need it. We started off with all the superpowers and have trickled our way down, but we need to start shifting our attention to the underdeveloped countries where technology is still behind the curve. Yifan has in mass production the devices that the first class will be taking with them to hand out.”

Yifan nods from his seat, “I will have the order filled in two months’ time.”

“Good. Luhan, Yixing--”

The two men salute playfully in reply.

Jongdae grins, “Make sure all your languages are brushed up. Your communicators might not get everything across accurately. A lot of the tribes you will be visiting don’t even have a word for ‘spaceship’.”

“Already ahead of you,” Yixing says, holding up his hand to showcase the micro watch on his wrist. “Minseok programmed our translating devices to accompany holographic images of vocabulary words.”

Luhan holds up his wrist as well and presses a button -- a very simplistic image of a spaceship appears, floating delicately above his hand, and he puffs his cheeks out a bit. “The biggest task will be making sure that we don’t frighten the tribes that we visit.”

“By now everyone has reaped the benefits of the Tree taking root,” Jongdae says. “Make sure you let them know you are messengers of the Tree of Life. If you are not welcomed, ditch the technology for a bit and earn their trust the old fashioned way.”

“Roger!” Both men echo. 

Jongdae snorts a little. The pair of them are always trouble. He turns his attention to the two women sitting next to one another. “Kyungsoon, Zitao, what’s the humanity report?”

“There was a small scuffle between China and Indonesia,” Kyungsoon reports, her hands now pulling up a hologram of data between them. “Some Chinese celebrities have skirted the new visa application processes and got stuck in Indonesia while doing promotions.”

“Result?” Jongdae asks.

Kyungsoon smiles, “I intercepted and got the applications underway. Indonesia sent gift baskets back with the celebrities and extended an invitation for them to come back to a resort in Bali.”

Jongdae chuckles. “Good. Zitao?”

“Interspecies relations hasn’t had any issues lately,” Zitao has an actual piece of paper in front of her. “You have an invitation from the Altruuin envoy circling Procyon B, they apparently want to establish diplomatic relations between Earth and Altruu.”

“Well, since they’re in the neighborhood, invite them down for negotiations,” Jongdae says, swiveling in his chair a bit. “The Altruuin race is coming to their senses, I see.”

“Hard not to when Legend Jongdae has been knocking at their door for the past fifty years,” Baekhyun says, reclined in his chair, his slippered feet resting on the edge of the curved table. 

“Feet down,” Jongdae admonishes softly. Baekhyun ignores him. “And I have _not_ been knocking on their door.”

Baekhyun gives Jongdae a dead look. “You literally sent me over to that weird planet fifty years ago and made me stay for a decade.”

Jongdae sniffs, “I thought you had fun there.”

Suddenly, Baekhyun’s face breaks out into a sleezy grin. “Oh, yeah. Altruuin girls--”

“Next,” Joonmyun interrupts. 

Jongdae turns his gaze towards the other man, a small smile playing on his lips. “What’s your report today?”

Joonmyun puffs his chest out a bit. “The defense ministry has gone thirty-two days without incident.”

“Civilian or otherwise?” Jongdae asks, impressed.

Joonmyun nods, “Our zone currently holds the record.”

“Until Baekhyun decides to go out and steal a lollipop from a child,” Sehun says, sticking his tongue out.

Baekhyun leans forward and holds his fist up threateningly and Sehun simply wheels his chair farther away from the smaller man, whistling innocently. 

“Ok, ok,” Jongdae stands up, doing his best to not smile and look at least slightly stern. “Enough of that. After a hundred years can’t we stop bickering?” 

“He started it,” Baekhyun maturely says. 

Jongdae pinches the bridge of his nose. Next to him, Kai stands up, lifting a hand to project a display above the middle of the table for everyone to see. 

“It’s been one hundred years,” Kai says. The display is a slightly sped-up execution of all the changes Earth has gone through, as a whole, the globe spinning slowly and all sorts of lights and fireworks exploding on different continents, in different countries, the Tree of Life growing from the middle of the Pacific Ocean. “We all have our diplomatic responsibilities, but let us not forget why we are all here, together, today.”

Everyone falls silent, but easily so, no heaviness in the air. Two thousand years since they left their own planet in search of a new one, and one hundred years since Kai helped unite all of the Legends together once again, once and for all - seventy-five years since humanity united for the shared cause of helping the Earth regenerate itself.

Jongdae smiles, his hand resting on the small of Kai’s back. It’s how they end every meeting -- with a visual of the Earth that the Tree restored, and a reminder that they are all here together for a shared purpose.

The Legends shall stand under the same sky… and protect the same ground.

“It was more than worth it.”


End file.
